Baptized In Fire
by Beauseant
Summary: Joshua Graham died. Then he rose. This is the story of that.
1. Clean Air

"_Let this be a lesson to all of you here, let this live on as a parable to those who are not! Joshua Graham, you have failed the Legion and Caesar himself! For your shameful act, you are hereby punished by the flame of the nation you helped create, and so fire it shall be!"_

_The torch struck Joshua in the head. The flame blossomed down his back, and, for a moment, he couldn't help but notice that it tickled, sort of. Joshua knew, however, that he'd had his last laugh long before this. The flame hit the ground, simultaneously, his heart. He looked down the gorge, only the largest damn grave befits the largest of sinners. Edward knew how to speak to the soul, even if he didn't know it's language. The burning started. First, his fingertips, although the pain quickly shot up his arms, and, faster than the flame engulfed his body, did the pain engulf everything else left of Joshua Graham. You can't soak a burn on the soul, it is eternal. Like food in your teeth, it clings to your mind. This burning may have begun physically, but it would take another form as a foot hit Graham in the center of the spine._

_Joshua fell, his mind screamed, but he would not let his mouth. No, there would be no sound from The Malpais Legate. He closed his eyes. Tonight, any tears would convey weakness, regret. Laughter, in Joshua's mind, was not a statement of anything other than insanity or defeat. Men laugh at death when they watch two gladiators duel in the arena, but their haws would quickly silence were the knife in their gut. Laughter is an attempt to appear strong when you are permeated with weakness. No, there would be no tears, and there would be no laughter. _

_No, this legend would be born of silence._

_The silence is what will live on, the uncertainty, the maybes, the could-haves. Laughing as he fell would end on his death, but silence, silence will outlive us all._

"_Edward can kill me, but he'll have to get up earlier than that to fool me, my silence will outlive every word I have uttered." Graham smiled, he was not blind to the irony of the thought. By his own logic, General Oliver must be a very earlier riser. _

_He could feel himself rocketing down the cliffside. It was this moment when something incredible happened, impossible, even, but it happened anyway. He could feel his skin leaving his body to both earth and flame as he skidded down the canyon. The curvature of the cliffside cradled him, in the loosest meaning of the phrase. It was as though the hand of God reached back for Joshua, one more time. _

Joshua woke, his eyelids dragged themselves open. Even a nightmare couldn't give The Malpais Legate a start. Raising himself to a sit, he picked up his legs and put his feet on the floor in front of him, as people are wont to do when waking from a good sleep. Leaning forward, his hand grasped at the area around his feet. Clutching a bighorner skin bag, he loosened it, and reach inside. His hand resurfaced with a half dozen rolls of gauze. Sighing heavily, he reached for the back of his head, where the tucked in end of an old bandage still resided. He began to unravel his face, the dead, dry tissue clinging to the old bandage. Even a surgeon's hand could not remove these bandages with enough diligence to prevent the bleeding. Joshua winced as his eyebrow clung to the gauze. Using some water, he was able to loosen it enough to free his face. As quickly as he exposed his face, he would clothe it again. Admittedly, he knew it was no better to be a mummy than a zombie, but as least mummies can be clean. Besides, no one deserved to look upon the face of a thousand murders, of a thousand Godless kills, Joshua sighed again.

_The face of the Devil_.

Footsteps interrupted what would have been another normal New Canaan dawn. A familiar voice:

"Joshua Graham! An army, Joshua Graham, an army!"

"Calm, Follows-Chalk, White Legs?"

"No one I've seen."

"How many are there?"

"I didn't count, thirty? They carry a large red flag with a skinny bighorner on it!"

Joshua sighed, as was becoming his norm. _The Legion. _

Not an army, at least, more like a squadron. Their lack of training meant larger groups would be assigned for menial tasks, especially if that task is putting an old legend to sleep. Joshua instructed Follows-Chalk, a good kid, by Joshua's standards, to migrate the noncombatants and children into the farthest retreat of the canyon. Joshua turned for the corner. Reaching it, he pulled on a dusty blanket atop a metal shelf scavenged from a ranger tower not far away. Emitting a plume of dust, the blanket shed light on an old friend, a trail carbine with a medium range scope, an exemplary firearm amongst the many that littered the wastes. This gun was the second he would inherit in his days with the Dead Horses, and it would be with these two weapons only that he had not yet committed a Godless act. With this machine, Graham could hit a Legion soldier in the teeth at fifteen hundred yards. Joshua would only ever admit to his capabilities, in his own words, "if the air was clean". Graham walked, gun in hand, up a makeshift stone and dirt staircase at the back of Angel cave, the cavern he called home. As he reached the exit, he inhaled fully, closing his eyes. The air was as clean as it would ever be.


	2. The Bullet Never Lies

Up atop Angel Cave there is a stone with a groove carved in the top east to west. The bullets that would soon leave from this perch would travel a similar route, as Graham settled his gun. Looking down, near the crashed bus, he eyed a perfect spot to ambush the raiding party. A monument of patience, Joshua waited. The air was dry, and a subtle breeze whistled in the clearings amongst the rocks. A box of .44 calibre ammunition and a few hand grenades left much desired when one greets an invasion, but, Graham knew better than most how little God played with dice.

Once, during a hunting trip, Joshua tagged along, learning some of the cultural aspect of the tribe. Up a formation of rock, they'd run into a plateau, where a herd of bighorners made camp amongst the plentiful banana yucca that grew like grass up here. As the group attempted to surround the beast, it flew into a rage, charging at members of the group. In an attempt to steady the situation, the hunt leader, using a war club modified with long whip-like tassels, roped the beast's front legs together. The animal promptly fell. The group closed in on it and wrapped all its legs, which was no easy feat. It was a strong bighorner. It kicked and flailed wildly. As the hunt leader pulled a knife and went for the kill blow, the beast let loose a wild convulsion, pulling in the Dead Horses who were trying to hold it still. In doing so, the hunt leader missed the bull's head and stabbed a fellow tribesman in the forearm. It was a bloody mess, the stabbed man still has trouble moving his wrist, and prefers to tie it to a stick to keep it from moving involuntarily. Just went to show that even in a battle between man and bighorner, there is no predetermined victor.

The first legionnaire's head appeared over the rocks, soon a group twenty-plus strong marched down the trail. Graham wiped the sleep from his eyes, the sun had barely risen yet. As the group disappeared again behind a small cliff, Joshua reached for his bag. Gripping two of the three hand grenades, he pulled the pins, waited a couple seconds, and bowled them simultaneously off the edge of the cliff.

"Grena-"

Two explosions in quick succession either silenced or completely drowned out the shouting of the soldiers. Blood painted the wall where Graham anticipated they would return to view. He steadied the carbine.

"Move for the cars!" A voice started from behind the rocks.

A soldier bolted from the clearing in the rock. He was quick, that much was certain, but not unexpected when you serve an army that favors melee combat. Joshua exhaled slowly, squeezing the trigger gently. The weapon recoiled heavily as a bullet left the barrel. Blood sprayed as it contacted the top of the warriors skull. Following him were three more, all soaked in their comrades blood, and terrified, but not without conviction. They made for the vehicles. Graham fired a second round, hitting the one in front. As he fell, the second one ran into him, stumbling. The third jumped like his life depended on it, clearing the two on the ground, but not ready for the dip in the earth, he too ended up rolling in the dust. The second kicked wildly at the dead body encumbering him, clawing at the grass and dirt, he screamed like a madman. Graham fired again, missing the second man, and hitting the body that covered him. Blood ran from the body, and the living soldier freed himself. He was barely to his feet before Graham fired again, sighing as he did so. Unable to go for a headshot, Joshua was forced to immobilize the soldier by picking his kneecap. The man's leg nearly snapped in half as the bullet hit. It bent awkwardly as he hit the ground. He loosed his last cry, as Joshua fired a round into the top of his head. The third runner had twisted his ankle, and had made it behind the car, Joshua could hear his breathing. Graham pulled the pin on his last grenade and hurled it at the car. He could not have asked for a finer throw. He stood and walked over to the cliff where he threw his grenades, at least 15 men lay dead or mortally wounded. Joshua counted 4 survivors. He topped up his carbine for good measure, and fired at one of the wounded. At such close range, the bullet passed through like a hot knife through butter. One of the remainders had enough vigor left to roll away, screaming as he did. Joshua marvelled at how a man clings to his last inch of life. He cocked the lever and put a round in the man's lower back. He quickly finished the other two. He descended the cliff and walked over to the last survivor. With grenade shrapnel in all up his left side, and a bullet hole in his back, Joshua imagined the man had lived finer days, and many of them. He clung to his middle aged life. Joshua put the barrel within an inch of the man's eye. The soldier smiled.

"If you're going to kill me, you'd just as soon do it."

"I was thinking something a little less merciful, the barrel of this gun ought to be hotter than a New Canaan sun, now I don't like the smell of burning eyeballs, but as the old saying goes, breakfast is served." Graham neared the barrel, the man winced.

"You could do that, yeah. But from one dead man to the next, I'd appreciate it if you just killed me."

Joshua grinned, even in the deepest reaches of hell there lived a few decent folk, after all.

"Very well, old man, be at peace."

Joshua fired.

He turned and started back towards the Dead Horses camp, hoping he hadn't missed lunch.


	3. Still Waters

Graham stepped into the canoe down the hill from the Zion Valley welcome booth. Gripping the paddle, he placed it firmly in the water, applying strong, consistent strokes. The water smelled fresher than usual, maybe due to it's contrast with the stench of gunpowder. He eyed the bear traps placed tactfully in the water, shadowed by plants or shadows themselves. Nearly impossible to spot, if you weren't the one who laid them. The first time Graham was present for a White Leg invasion, the savages ran down the creek with no boat. Even General Oliver knows you never run barefoot through enemy waters. Since it was a small raiding party, Joshua himself was able to fend it off. The second time they didn't make it down the river, only their screams ricocheted into the camp. The third time, they brought boats. The humor was not lost on Graham.

The Dead Horses stood on the beach, which is precisely where Graham told them not to be when he returned, but they are grateful folk. The tribe erupted in cheer as he neared the beach. Follows-Chalk was particularly excited. Graham didn't really care for the admiration they adorned him with, but no good deed, after all, goes unpunished. Tying his boat in at a makeshift dock of sorts, Joshua headed over for breakfast. He could smell the bighorner meat in the air. He sat down to a bowl with some banana yucca and bighorner meat. It wasn't the meat and potatoes of New Canaan, but Joshua had long since forgotten meals of a bygone life. Even after all this time, opening his mouth to eat was still quite painful, however, eating was no longer something Joshua enjoyed, merely a form of sustenance. Finishing his food, he retreated back into Angel cave, mostly to shelter himself from the celebration. He sat on his bed and once again began changing his bandages. Every day, he would inflict this torture on himself, but at risk of infection, it more or less resembled exercise than self mutilation.

An exciting day, to be sure, but not without its own revelations. Joshua knew what it meant seeing a Legion invasion replace a White Leg raid. Caesar was losing faith in the Nevadan tribe and their "storm drums". The Dead Horses may fall one day to the relentless savagery of the White Legs, but the Legion was a different story. The tribe stood against death facing the White Legs, but the hell Caesar would bring upon them would be so swift and thorough, they would not stand a chance, ignoring the fact that Caesar wouldn't even kill lots of them. The slavery industry, after all, always had openings.

After hours of work, mostly maintaining weapons and making explosives and traps, Graham returned to his bed. Sleeping, unlike eating, was something Graham quite enjoyed. His eyes always felt heavy, his mind always felt completely taxed, like it longed infinitely for rest. Even amongst the barrage of nightmares he would likely endure his whole life, nothing could count itself a viable replacement for a good nights sleep.

_Graham's eyes opened, painfully, as though they were glued shut. He had stopped in a puddle of water not large enough to fit much else than him. The pain hit him like a kick in the gut, and he nearly yelled. Using his arms, he pushed himself up, and gazed at his reflection in the water._

_But the face that looked back was not his. _

_Graham's arms ached under his own weight, and he flopped back into the puddle. He lay there in that puddle for a few hours, taking minute comfort in that at least it was night, and at least he was soaking his burns. He wished so badly he could fall back asleep and die quietly, but his body clung to life so. He raised his head, grimacing through the pain every movement plagued him with. There was no place for him in this world anymore, it had no need of him, yet it had not cast him aside completely. Gazing north east, Joshua knew there was a path from another era when people would tour this cursed place, laughing at death. He gripped the dirt, his fingertips bled. _

Joshua woke. The worst memories die hardest, it seems. Sitting up, he took in the view of his home, one last time. The soft draft passing through, the smell of a fire burning outside. Its greatest fruit, however, was the peace, and silence. Joshua had never inhabited a more tranquil place. His days in the legion saw little else than noise, and the little quiet he did get was soaked through and through with the infectious hate and fear mongering that plagues the legion so. Being in Angel Cave reminded Joshua of the light shining in the darkest places in this world. Graham stood and walked back to the metal shelf. The tribesfolk had taken to calling it, "The Corner of Wrath," which, had it not been referring to a metal storage shelf, would be an intimidating name for a locale. Reaching the corner, he pulled out a back holster for his rifle, a pack for supplies, and a side holster, for his second most prized possession: a .45 automatic pistol. Learning the ways of this lightweight, durable hand gun was a rite of passage to New Canaanites, who designed and manufactured the weapon themselves. A more versatile and trustworthy weapon, Joshua had never possessed. Snakeskin ran up both sides of the grip. Joshua had never known why it was different, but, like most things peculiar in life, he assumed there must have been a good reason. During the White Leg invasion of New Canaan, Graham had found the gun in the chaos. He must have killed fifty White Legs with it. It was not until the days following the invasion, Joshua discovered something distinguishing this weapon from any other. On the right side, parallel to the barrel, a phrase was inscribed on the metal, and, like the gun, this phrase would be etched into his mind as well:

_And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not._

A beautiful passage, Joshua knew it in more ways than being literate could offer. Holstering the weapon, Joshua decided to scavenge some food from old world places on the way out. Packing some Rad-away and stimpaks for good measure, Joshua turned for the exit of Angel Cave. If it was early enough, most of the Dead Horses will not have woken up. The morning breeze picked up as he exited the cave. Walking down the beach toward the dock, Joshua knew he would not be permitted to leave himself if the Dead Horses saw. Carefully, he placed his gear in the canoe, along with a paddle. Giving the canoe a heave, he jumped in.

Joshua loved this lake at night. The moon glazed the water perfectly, and the ripples emitted by the canoe reflected the light beautifully. Joshua rarely afforded himself the opportunity to see it anymore, and he regretted it now realizing he may be gazing upon it his last time. As he neared the exit, Joshua looked back upon the lake. For the first time, Joshua admired the immaculate stillness dominating the lake. It was a beautiful morning.


	4. Mojave Dawn

Joshua stepped into the small path cut through the mountains. Few men who crossed this route returned the same way. It was a perilous trip. Only the curious or the ignorant used it, and only the desperate or the insane used it twice. Joshua hadn't yet decided which of those groups could count him amongst them. The wind blasted sand down the path, tearing at Graham, who would not be deterred.

It took two days of traversing narrow paths and cursing his decision to trade a safe journey for a time-saving one. Joshua eventually entered the northern cave that would empty into the Mojave. The cave was disagreeably damp, but strangely reminiscent of Angel Cave back in the Eastern Virgin. Fungus clung to every surface. Joshua momentarily prayed the Mojave would be at least a little more subtle in its unpleasantness. Up ahead, a light ripened at the extent of Graham's eyesight. Reaching it, Joshua decided he could not ignore another night of sleep. He removed the rifle from his back, and leaned it against the wall. Second, he removed his bag and placed it on the ground abreast the carbine. Lastly, he removed the pistol holster and draped it across his bag. The pistol itself, however, was to sleep with Joshua tonight.

_Joshua clawed at the ground. Every time he moved, skin left his body. He could not scream any more, it hurt more to scream than to be silent, even the slight tears leaving his eyes would burn his cheeks. God might have saved Joshua's life, but He wasn't doing him any favors. The sand blew in Joshua's eyes so bad he could barely see. The forced drying of his eyes led to more tears, each one as painful as the last. _

_Joshua thought of his old home. New Canaan. He could remember returning home from a mission and seeing the Church begin to rise in the far horizon, like a beacon calling him home. Even after all the terrible memories he'd made, The Church still held one somewhere inside him, after all. It wasn't a beautiful building, looked more like a storage building on the inside. It was of no concern to the New Canaanites, however, who understood it better than foreigners ever could. How beautiful it was to see the place filled with pious folks, all chattering amongst themselves. A beautiful community. The memories flooded back now, Joshua could not stop them. Graham pulled at the ground with a renewed vigor, a new purpose. He could almost see himself standing in the street, New Canaanites walking carefree from building to building, carrying on their fulfilled lives. Even through the happiness such fond memories gave him, he wished he had not thought of it. Joshua Graham would spend 3 days crawling through that canyon to New Canaan. He would cry the whole way. _

Joshua woke. A tear escaped his eye. He exhaled heavily and sat up. The ground was hard on his back_. _He forgot how old he was getting. After equipping his gear once more, Graham continued for the exit of the cave. The cave continued upwards, where a natural light shone in. Joshua walked the incline. Only once had he entered this land. Joshua closed his eyes and took in a full breath.

_Only once._

In those days, he was an invader, a usurper. He was a fool then. In those days, his entrance to these lands was with the full intention of conquering it. Now, his return marked a journey to save it. He stepped out into the Mojave sun. Joshua's eyes laid upon the first thing there would be available for him to see in this land, and this thing was a grave. The message did not evade Joshua, who continued around the bend in the rocks leading away from the passage, where he finally achieved a substantial panoramic view of the Mojave. It was dry, and windy, and even worse, his view was blocked by a strip of the most flamboyant buildings Graham had ever laid eyes on. He knew it would amaze him, seeing the city. It was made to impress, after all. Graham was ready for this vision though, as he'd read and studied of it and it's inhabitants extensively. All that was left was to apply an image to what, in his mind, registered as mankind's monument to debauchery. He continued the dawn of his adventure south into a cluster of houses, or what would at least be called such. A familiar noise drifted past his ears.

_Someone chambering a round._

It was no mystery where the source of the sound lay. Graham's hand drew his .45, perhaps before his mind thought to. His eyes quickly examined both windows on the side of the house facing him. Both were boarded heavily, but obviously a layman's job. The left one, however, sported a small slit in the boarding. As Graham turned to fire at the left window, a flash emanated from it, followed instantly by the crack of what Joshua recognized as a nine millimeter pistol. A common handgun, easy enough to obtain and learn. This attacker, however, had yet to learn. The bullet hit the dirt, easily three yards in front of him. Joshua returned fire, more out of sport at this point than defense. He placed the round in the window frame nearest the flash. The window retaliated with a flurry of gunfire in every direction God deemed it necessary to make. Which was advantageous to the shooter, for if there were any more, he would have exhausted his entire clip. Joshua holstered his weapon and made for the house. By his count, the shooter had precisely 3 rounds left, assuming he started with a full magazine. Graham neared the door, as he was about to grab the handle, two bullets exploded through the door.

"You're better with that thing when you can't see me." Joshua jeered.

A young man's voice bellowed from within, "You're better off gettin' the fuck away!"

"You've only one round left, my friend, and the way I see it, you're more apt to burn up all the oxygen firing that gun than you are to hit me, save it for a genuine foe."

"How do I know you're not?"

Graham wanted to laugh, but he wasn't entirely sure he remembered how.

"Have you ever heard of Sun Tzu?"

"What in the fuck is a Sun Zoo?"

"Sun Tzu was a man who lived long before you and I, long before even the Great War. He wrote a book about how to win every battle. Would you like to know how much he told people to rely on chance?"

"Not really, but since we're on the topic."

"Not even a little bit, now I know you've got at most one round left. I doubt you have more, or I would have heard you reload."

"Maybe I'm just waiting for the moment."

"If you consider yourself a patient man after that charade at the window, you have your work cut out for you. I'm going to walk away. If you shoot at me, try to breathe a little calmer, it'll help your aim."

Silence overtook the moment, only the wind made itself heard. The desert grass swayed gently. Joshua waited momentarily. The silence would break with a diagnosis of character, of extreme brevity and ambiguity.

"You're kinda fucked up man, you know that?"

Joshua turned and continued walking towards the strip. It was going to be a strange day.


	5. Good News

Graham followed the wall west until he sensed he was nearing an entrance. Stepping through the rubble blanketing the ground in large stretches, Graham eventually rounded a corner where three men stood before a large gate. "Freeside" adorned the top of the gate. Joshua had heard of the place. Where folks penniless and homeless alike inhabited streets run amok with squalor. Drugs were currency, and weapons were justice. Drugs aside, the place differed little from the Legion. However, this did not mean Graham would fit in. As he neared the door, one of the men stepped forward.

"Howdy, friend! Looking to pass through Freeside safely? You could do much worse than having me at your side. What do you say? 100 caps and I'll guarantee your safety."

Joshua lifted his head, catching the man quickly adopting an estranged look.

"No thanks. I'm afraid I've seen worse things than a vagrant with a tire iron. Is there somewhere I can buy ammunition?"

"Uh, sure, there's Gun Runners right behind you there, they're your best bet. There's also the Silver Rush if you're feeling foolish."

"Thanks," Joshua finished, as he turned towards a makeshift shack designed as the vending facade of the company. The rubble crunched under his feet as he neared it. Made mostly of metal, it was a solid building, if not a little ridiculous looking. A small canopy sheltered a small space in front of the store. As he reached the front, he saw a strange sight. If the sight of absolute wealth and overindulgence surrounded by a sea of poverty wasn't the strangest thing Joshua ever saw, it would be the sight of a robot selling weapons like a pre-war vending machine of death. Graham's eyes narrowed as he examined the machine. A man to his left, leaning on an ammunition bench, adjusted awkwardly, a Joshua stared down the robot, who broke the silence.

"Hello, potential customer."

Joshua sighed, having perhaps expected too much from the machine. Joshua looked behind the robot, and saw the prices displayed for the guns. Evidently, either inflation was going through the roof, or Gun Runners doesn't savvy the prospect of hobos with firearms. Joshua couldn't say he did, either.

"Do your competitors sell at these prices as well?"

The man abreast Graham interrupted, "I'm afraid he can't answer questions like that. He's may be a robot, but he's simple when it comes to talkin'. To answer your question, though, I'm sure they would, if they could get their hands on the stuff we sell. Everything here is manufactured by the Gun Runners themselves, and is by that statement top quality, you won't find better goods nowhere. Unfortunately, quality comes at a price."

"I have business in this land, business that so far I've been able to handle with a pistol and a rifle, however, I anticipate in the long run a need for something less-"

"Subtle?" The man cut him off. "Names Isaac, you're not from around here, are you? You some kinda-"

"Merchant." The word slipped off Graham's tongue before he realized that while he didn't lack the savvy of a goods merchant, he did lack the goods. Hopefully, New Vegas denizens weren't the nosey sort.

"Yeah? Always keepin' an eye out for playin' cards, what you sellin'?"

Graham sighed, "Good news seems to be my only commodity these days."

Issac turned back towards his work at the bench, "Hmph, God knows we could use some of that."

Joshua started walking down past Isaac, eyes to the east, down a long stretch of highway, "I'm sure he does." As he reached ten yards between him and Isaac, he could hear the man yell.

"If you're in for a long hike, you ought to follow this highway down to the Grub n' Gulp, get you some food and drink. There's a couple other trade posts between here and Novac. Who knows, maybe they'll have some good news for you!"

Joshua grabbed a small pouch of coin, turning to walk backwards, he lobbed the pouch at Isaac, who, upon catching it, continued in his own good news.

"Oh, and as far as gettin' yourself a boomstick, down by the El Dorado there's a gas station where junkies and raiders hole up. If you're feeling stupid, you might wanna give it a check. Don't go in that fuckin' lake though, some bad shit in there!"

Joshua waved, smiling, if it meant anything. _Seems there's plenty of work for the stupid out here. _He continued east as far as the trail would lead him. From there, he was forced to criss cross through what looked to be an impromptu residential area. Crossing a wood and rope bridge over a small ditch, Graham made his way discreetly through the neighborhood. Intersections were marked by barrels of garbage lit ablaze. The highway towered above the place, dwarfing everything in sight. He wondered if everything pre-war was as grandiose. Taking a little comfort in the notion that he would at least suffer little from path deviation, Graham ignored his distaste in this place as best he could, focusing instead on finding some good news. The road was cut off by a large pipe that spanned south, snaking its way out of view into the hills east. Joshua turned south and followed a new road, which dipped into what, if not for it clearly being NCR territory, would be a fine place to ambush the two soldiers warming their hands over a garbage fire. He could hear their banter before he could clearly see them. As he neared, one of the guards jumped into a soldier visage.

"By yourself?" He bellowed.

"Some journeys are for the self only. How much farther to the Grub n' Gulp?"

"About an hour, hope you know some good songs to whistle, ain't much to see 'twixt here and the Grub. Most we hope for here is some shit'll come running down from vault 34."

"Thanks." Graham slid past the soldier, his gaze fixed towards the ground. In a past life, these soldiers would have died at his hands before they had a chance to notice him. It seemed there was no end to the remarking upon Joshua's past life.

"You're carrying some serious ordinance, friend, lookin' to get in some shit?"

"Something like that." Graham danced with fate in these words, he realized, but a part of him enjoyed tempting it so.

"Right, well, don't shoot anyone at the Grub, they're good folks down there! Tell Fitz that Marv sent ya, might swing you a discount!"

Graham waved his thanks again. He walked south for a good fifteen minutes, chuckling inwardly at the sub par view. Taking advice from strangers was not commonplace for Joshua, but it seemed to be doing him just fine as of late. Even though he lacked the lip mass for whistling, Joshua Graham was not without song. He broke out into a melodious humming.

Sooner than he anticipated, a building budded into view. As he entered a hundred yard radius, the place began to resemble a raider encampment more than a rest stop, what with lean-to shacks made with sheets of metal propped up like a card castle, a fence which appeared to harbor no livestock, and fires lighting the place all around. At night, this place would be visible a mile off in the opposite direction. Joshua crossed over the dust onto the stretch of highway that would tangent the rest stop. As he neared, a friendly voice beckoned him.

"Need some water? Got plenty here!"

"I could use some, actually. Marv sent me this way, said you handle me."

"I swear, Marv is responsible for most the business we get your way." She handed him a water, embossed with a P, Joshua wagered it meant, "purified".

"How much?"

"First one's free to friends of Marv, I'm sure Fitz'll throw in dinner if you get a bed for the night. Shouldn't run you more than fifty caps."

"You're good folks, I appreciate it."

After a dinner composed largely of fruits and nuts, Graham retired for a night's sleep.

_Joshua was sure he'd exhausted his body's supply of water, having cried most of it out in his laborious crawling out of the canyon. Finally returning to his feet after a few days, he found a building which was clearly a schoolhouse in a bygone era. He grabbed the iodine hiding in a first aid kit, which, to his amazement and praise to God, was left unsoiled in the first aid room. Removing the dropper, Graham applied the disinfectant liberally. Cleaning out an atomizer previously used for perfume, Graham sprayed the iodine all over himself. His body seethed. With only one round of gauze, Graham wrapped his torso. Snapping the top off a pre-war coat rack, Graham would hobble, a broken coat rack his only companion, down an endless stretch of highway, where old friends awaited his return, even if they didn't count on it. _

After packing his things and preparing for a day's walk, Joshua met out in front of the stop with Fitz to bade farewell an express his appreciation. Good help, afterall, is very hard to find. Farewells were always of a short nature with Joshua, not being the conversationally emotional type. Fitz extended a hand. Unfortunately, Graham was not "built" for handshakes anymore. Fitz quickly realised and nodded his head as an alternative. Joshua returned the nod. He turned and looked hard into the distance. A bridge not fifty yards ahead formed a picture frame of what looked to be an endless sea of dust. Looking up towards the rising sun, Graham noticed something in the sky. Fast approaching, it moved in a streamline, not unlike a weapon he'd earlier in his life become quite familiar with.

Dodging right, the spear rocketed past him. Joshua winced. The spear hit Fitz in the chest with such force it passed directly through him, hitting the ground, and propping him up at a forty five degree angle. Lupe screamed wildly. Fitz's lungs clawed for air. Joshua spotted the party of Legionnaires at the end of the decline created by the bridge. He pulled the long carbine from his back. Having been unable to top up his stock of ammunition for the gun, Joshua realized he had only four bullets for a five man party. He steadied his aim and fired. The bullet contacted a head, sending him to the dirt. The remainders made for cover, but not in time for Joshua to drop one more of the party. Joshua beckoned Lupe to find cover. She clung to Fitz's dying body, wailing. The man's face soured as he finally found his breath, he let out a grievous moan. Graham placed his rifle back onto his back, and, grabbing a spear that failed to hit any target, began walking towards the enemy. Seeing his brazen action, and three left their cover and ran at Graham, whipping spears as they did. The two in front out ran the third badly, and to fault, as Joshua would show. As the first entered melee distance, he began to swing a long machete at Graham. Leveling the spear at the man's throat, it passed through unhindered. Graham spun, ripping out the spear and sweeping the second man's legs with it. His speed became his own worst enemy, as he face planted into the Mojave dirt. Joshua readied the spear and hurled it at the third, whom carried the standard. It delivered a fate almost identical to Fitz's. Joshua turned and walked back to the second warrior, whose face was almost indistinguishable through the blood and dirt. Joshua gripped the back of his armor, and slammed his face hard into the dirt. Grabbing now the warriors head, Joshua spoke.

"Return to the dirt whence you came, dog. You will do it as I did." He placed the soldiers own machete along the back of his ankles, and slowly slid the blade. It fought as it cut through wiry tendon, the soldier wailed. He cut off the warriors armor. Joshua walked back to the man carrying the standard, now mirroring Fitz's fate. He removed the standard and returned to the crawling warrior. Joshua ripped the flag down the middle. He wrapped the wailing man in the tattered flag, and prodded him with the blade.

"Have you forgotten? Your kind once brought upon me a similar fate. I was lit on fire, and cast down a canyon side so large, God could barely save me. But I crawled out of that canyon, took me three days. I drank water that I slept in, and every time I moved, skin fell off my body. When I returned home, I was not the same man who led your petty raids anymore, no, that man passed away in that canyon, but the fire inside him lives on. You see this road? From where you are, that building up there must look miles away, but I crawled that distance a hundred times over. You, however, will not make it to the bridge fifty yards up. I do hope my point isn't lost on you."

Joshua stood and left that man there to die with nothing but his own tears to comfort him, as they would have it for him. Fortunately for him, however, Joshua would be right. That warrior would not make it to the bridge.

* * *

_I hated this chapter at the start, but I found it really picked up as it went. What do you think?! I'm hoping to add some ingredients to this dish in the next chapter, so Chapter 6 might take a while longer.  
_


	6. A Strange Report

Colonel Hsu let go of his own body weight and crashed heavily into his chair. Coffee in hand, he picked up the report on his desk. He cracked it as he bit half mindedly into a pear. Fresh fruit was still a commodity in these lands, however, a morning report can make or break a day. Hsu stopped chewing so he could better hear his thoughts. He stood, taking the pear, and left the room. Major Dhatri was luckily not far away.

"Major, would you mind clarifying this report for me?"

"Uh, yeah, not much to clarify sir, NCR troopers stationed west of Vault 34 reported a strange man making a pilgrimage to the Grub n' Gulp. Next morning, gunshots rang out from the place and a man there, Fitz, was hit with a Legion spear, he didn't make it. Legion bodies were found not far from the site. The only survivor was a woman, Lupe, who also worked there."

"This Lupe, she some kind of badass?"

"Sir?"

"That's a joke, Major. Did we get a name on this strange man?"

"Not a name, nor a face, sir."

"What?"

"The man was clad entirely in bandages, head to toe, like a mummy or something. The only confirmation comes from this Lupe, who was hysterical at the time. Said this mummy was headed down south to Novac."

"Get me Chief Hanlon."

* * *

Chief Hanlon loved the view of Lake Las Vegas. It was nearly the only good news he received these days, that the sun still shone in the morning. He always woke up with the sun. This war was ageing him so. Luckily, the past few weeks had been fairly quiet, with little to report, save for some unorthodox, but untroubling, Legion movement. A soldier stepped out onto the balcony, interrupting Hanlon's appreciation for what little nature remained in this world. Hanlon knew, however, this only happened if there was a matter of great importance.

"Er, sorry Chief, Hsu's on the radio for you."

Hanlon nodded and stood. The most exercise he received these days came from standing and sitting. A ranger's legs, however, never seem to grow completely out of season. Walking down the stairs into the lobby, Hanlon greeted the cadre of soldiers that gathered around the vending machine for beverages in the morning. They would soon migrate out to the mess hall for a breakfast only a life in the army could provide. Turning left, Hanlon strode through a double door into a hallway where offices lines each wall. The first on the left being his, Hanlon entered, dismissed the soldier at the radio, and sat down himself.

"Morning Hsu."

"Chief, I received a strange report today, may need a man of your experience, and location."

"Right, well, go on."

"Report says a couple of soldiers near Vault 34 crossed paths with a man covered entirely in bandage, headed to the Grub n' Gulp. Next morning they heard gunshots from the area and raced to the scene, I'm sure, to find a dead merchant with a spear in his chest, and five dead legion soldiers, two with bullet holes in their faces, the others looked like they were killed with their own spear. Only a woman, Lupe, survived the ordeal."

"So a man, bandage clad, stayed the night at the Grub, took off in the morning, then some Legion showed up and this Lupe, she kills them, hey? That is a strange report."

"My words exactly." The two exchanged a chuckle, "Any thoughts?"

"Well, what we have is a man who no one knows, who came from no one knows where, but probably up North, geographically speaking, and no one knows where he's headed. And Caesar finds this man so interesting that he's sneaking troops into NCR territory to kill him. What's also weird is that lately we've been getting some report of Legion movement headed north. At first we figured they were rounding up through Salt Lake to do some Legion business with the tribes up there, but this has been a one way trip. None of those soldiers makes a return. Which means they're either trying to sneak an army through the northern passage, which is like trying to swallow a mouthful of bottle caps, or those troops are dying up there. I'll dispatch First Recon to look into it, they could use something to do. I'll radio you when I get something."

Hanlon left the room. _The times are changing. _He checked the time. He decided he would have breakfast with the soldiers today.

Exiting the resort, Hanlon made his way down the staircase lining the south side of the building. The mess hall was more of a large tent, but it smelled fantastic. Hanlon grabbed a plateful of his usual, a slab of brahmin meat and some assorted fruits and nuts, and a black coffee, the only coffee stiff enough to wake him up anymore. He gazed at all the tables. The one he was looking for was not a tough find. He walked over to a table surrounded by the signature red beret of the First Recon unit, and sat down. The group looked at him with a strange look.

"Looks like you guys'll be off your behind today. Not exactly grunt work."

"What sort of not exactly grunt work?"

Hanlon relayed the strange report to First Recon, who did not jest about Lupe's survival.

"So we just have to track a man who figures he can carve a path of death straight down the Mojave? Sounds easy enough."

"Yeah well, listen a moment. The man's no raider, he paid for his goods at the Grub, now the death of the merchant was likely unintended, but this man went hand to hand with three Legion soldiers. Not only did he kill them, he tortured one."

* * *

"That's fucked up!" 10 exclaimed, worried, "Isn't that kinda fucked up, Corporal?"

"A raider who pays for his bed? Yeah, I reckon I'll believe it when I see it." Sterling had seen plenty of torture to know that any man was capable of it. Admittedly, this case was particularly torturous.

"He cut a man's achilles tendons and left him to bleed out! That's some straight Cook-Cook shit!"

"If you mention Cook-Cook around Betsy again, I'm gonna put holes in you. This man ain't our enemy, clearly had some kind of personal issue with those Legion boys. I reckon we'll catch up to him around, if not in Novac. It won't get out of hand, and no, you can't hold mine."

The group laughed, all but Gorobets were present, and it was rare that the four of them got out together, unless it was a drinking endeavor. 1st Recon was a tough unit. Sterling was sent to it from the Rangers after a run in with the Legion, where he himself was tortured and left for dead. Good soldiers don't seem to die by torture, not of the body, anyway. 10 was young, but the boy was a crack shot, having been raised shooting a varmint rifle to protect livestock and crops on his parent's ranch back home. Even if he was annoying at times, everyone knew he was a valuable asset to the team.

The group walked south down highway 95, which had, as of late, seen extra traffic due to the deathclaws infesting the I-15. It wasn't much safer to take this route. Between the ants in El Dorado Lake, the Cazador nest you barely miss, and its close proximity to unguarded entry points for Legion troops, realistically, folks were just as safe taking the I-15. This was ignoring the fact that the entire stretch was spotted by groups of raiders. But people are mighty scared of deathclaws.

"We've got all four of us, any how. Now, the man might be quick enough to drop a few Legion boys with their forks and knives, or what have you, but this is First Recon here. The last thing you never see?" Sterling poked 10 in the head, where the logo of First Recon decorated his beret. 10 removed his beret and examined it. Feeling assured, as Sterling so oft provided for him, he placed it again atop his head.

"We'll stop at the 188, see if they seen anyone wrapped head to toe in gauze and sporting a trail carbine."

* * *

Joshua Graham neared an overpass not so different from the one he'd had an encounter with a Legion troop earlier this morning. The walk had been long, but refreshing, as Joshua counted few times in his life in which he could escape the noise of this world. He sighed as he came within a hundred yards of what was clearly a trading post. Fortunately, as trading posts go, this one was quiet, for its size. Gazing up, he spotted an arms truck on the overpass. He started up the incline to the right side of the overpass. It was steep, and Graham's back ached slightly as he worked his way up. Once he topped the hill, he walked onto the overpass. He counted six people, one of whom looked like he was preparing to leave, the rest were mostly merchants. He continued straight, past the diner and tables, and found himself eye to eye with a woman who looked to be a soldier, without a uniform.

"You don't look like a soldier."

"That makes one of us."

"Yeah, long story. What you doin' in these parts?"

"Going to talk to Caesar."

The woman loosed a short crack of a laugh, "Ain't we all, my friend. Looks like a trail carbine, I got what you need. How many? Sell you thirty for seventy-five caps!"

"That would be appreciated."

Graham concluded his business. In a streak of clairvoyance of a rare caliber, Joshua had been saving bottle caps during his tenure with the Dead Horses. He certainly was thanking himself now. Having bought a nuka cola, a bowl of noodles and pre-war salisbury steak, Graham sat down for what was not exactly a meal of champions. A voice piped up from behind him:

"Um, excuse me, where are you from?" It was a young girl's voice, she spoke in a way Joshua had not heard in many years.

"I came from fire, for in fire I was born. If you mean where I belong, that place does not exist any more. I am a New Canaanite."

"That's exciting, you don't see many of you people around."

"Probably because there aren't many of us around."

"What happened?"

"Up in Salt Lake City, there is tribe of savages called the White Legs. They have no knowledge of survival and have to raid. When word of the Legion reached them, they reached back. Their rite of passage into the Legion is the slaughter of every New Canaanite. They nearly passed their test in a single night."

"That's terrible! How did you survive?"

Joshua peered hard at the table, wondering who this woman was. The naivety in her voice was not something people raised in a wasteland acquire. Lying was a sin, but like killing, Joshua believed it could be used righteously.

"I grabbed a laser rifle I had scavenged in a ruin in Salt Lake City, with careful examination, we found we could amplify its stopping power with a focus optic, and through trading with Mojave caravans, we found another modification could split the beam while maintaining the power in each new beam, an incredibly versatile weapon. It was the only one we had. So I grabbed this tri-beam laser rifle and-"

"I thought you said it was a laser rifle, modified with focus optics and a beam splitter?"

Joshua smiled, "That's exciting, you don't see many of you people around."

The girl adjusted nervously, swallowing hard, "Okay, I don't know how you know that, but I can't afford for people to find out, how did you know I was Brotherhood and not with the Van Graffs or something?"

"I never said you were with the Brotherhood."

"Damnit! Who are you?"

"I believe I'm on a journey to answer that same question, and I have a feeling you are too. For what it's worth, good luck."

Joshua stood and walked off the overpass, finding that descending this hill was nearly as deadly as climbing it. Under the overpass, he found plenty of people as well. Another merchant, another arms dealer, from the looks of it. The man didn't exactly look enthusiastic for business, so Joshua continued walking. The merchant grunted as Joshua passed, carefully examining his bandages. Joshua understood he was likely going to have to find a helmet or something, as these bandages were not doing him any favors of blending in. Farther down the stretch he passed a child, whom he looked at long and hard. He wore a strange crown of sorts, and surrounded himself with a shrine of toys. The boy spoke.

"You reek."

"I reek of what?"

"Destiny, would you like to know?"

Joshua sighed hard. Even if the boy could predict the future, there are some things Joshua believed it just doesn't help to know.

"No thanks," Graham replied, tossing the boy some caps, "At this point in my life, there are few mysteries left. I just as soon leave them that way."

Joshua continued walking out of from under the overpass, to be momentarily stopped by the boy, who had one last thing to say for Joshua.

"And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not."

As Joshua faded out of the boy's view, he closed his eyes, and exhaled.


	7. Ace In the Hole

Sterling leaned heavily on the counter of the diner at the 188 trade post. He would have went straight for the benches had he not a professional visage to maintain. Novac notwithstanding, the 188 was head and shoulders above all over trade posts along highway 95, offering food, drink, weapons, and miscellaneous wares. The only thing it didn't offer was beds, but, situated on an overpass, folks mostly just helped themselves. The diner was owned by the Kerr's, who were nice enough people, if not a little business driven. The post's main attraction was it's flavor, having a diner, a discharged NCR soldier selling arms, competing directly with a Gun Runners caravan, although it wasn't much of a competition. The man running the Gun Runners branch wasn't a business minded individual. Comedically, the business making the most profit was a child who sold his "thoughts" for money. Sterling couldn't fathom paying money to hear the thoughts of anyone. Unfortunately, such was his job today.

"Is our diner good enough to attract the Red Berets? I'm flattered."

Sterling didn't even grace the man with a reply, "You seen a man through here with bandages all about him, probably packing heat?"

Samuel, true to form, replied, rubbing his thumb against the inside of his index finger, scratching his head in mock confusion, "Can't say I remember."

A voice piped up from behind, much to Samuel's displeasure, "Yeah, he was here! Real weirdo, left headed to Novac. You just missed him by an hour or so! Some kind of criminal?"

"Thanks, ma'am, and we're not sure what to make of him yet, he was involved in a skirmish at the Grub n' Gulp. We're trying to catch up with him for questioning, thanks for your help." Sterling threw the girl some caps, mostly just to spite Samuel, who groaned. The four Red Berets walked to the other side of the overpass. As they walked the decline back to the Mojave dirt, the ex-NCR arms dealer spoke:

"Not without his manners, even if he did buy enough .44 ammunition to shoot everyone in Novac twice. Good luck boys."

Sterling tipped his hat to the woman. The four exited the overpass, and looked warily towards Novac. A good 5 hour walk, Sterling imagined the show was ready to get mighty serious once that Dinosaur bloomed over the horizon. It was a good day to have 10 along.

* * *

Joshua Graham pressed a bottle of purified water to his parched lips. The sun was intense today. Luckily, being covered in white gauze helped tremendously. The heat waves played tricks with his eyes as a tower, perhaps as large as the ones infesting New Vegas, loomed on the horizon. Graham thought hard for a moment before realizing he knew the place. Helios One. As Caesar's Legate, Joshua would often send troops at the power plant. Certainly, he was sending them to their death every time, but it did keep the NCR in check.

As Joshua neared what he anticipated to be the dry lake he was heavily advised to refrain from entering, he grimaced at two fateful words posted on a green sign, pointing east:

_Boulder City._

Joshua stopped, his gaze fell to the earth. He considered momentarily returning to the city, to see the city that would ruin itself, so that he may rid himself of ruin. He could practically envision himself there. Looking back on such moments, it was not his past anger that unsettled him, nor his hatred. It was the cold inside him, the frigidity of a dark chasm having formed in his heart. It was difficult to forgive himself of it. Joshua closed his eyes for a bit longer than a standard blink. His mind felt as though it gained weight. He adjusted uneasily, taking another swig of water from the bottle. The burns covering his body, bandages that covered the burns, and lastly, the man born in the depths of the Grand Canyon. All made possible by one lapse in judgement. One fantastic, fateful lapse in judgement.

He focused onward. The gas station he was warned of came into view. He could already see the fires through the sand blowing in from the dry lake across the road. The station was decrepit, from years without maintenance. The canopy guarding the pumps swayed ever so lightly in the harsh wind, farther up, past Helios one, rose a gigantic green dinosaur, which was surely the town of Novac. Joshua stopped roughly a hundred and fifty paces from the gas station. The door to the station was kicked open aggressively. Graham stopped. A tall, wiry man exited the building, and vomited on the doorstep. Washing his mouth with a swig of whiskey, he stumbled out and leaned on the pump nearest the station. He gaze sauntered Graham's way, and Joshua knew there was no place to immediately hide. The man spotted Graham, and made what looked to be a run for the door of the gas station. He stumbled hard into the door, but appeared to not feel any pain, as he opened the door with great force, hitting the side of his knee.

Graham's mind raced. There was no knowing how many of these psycho-soaked subhumans infested this dilapidated building or how many of them had gus. He threw his eyes toward the dry lake. Momentarily, recent warnings flashed into his mind.

_Don't go in that fuckin' lake though, some bad shit in there!_

He knew there was no choice. If a half dozen drug fueled mad men came running out of that gas station, armed to the teeth, it would spell a sad ending to a righteous journey. He ran for the dry lake, removing his .45 pistol from its holster. As he came to a lateral with the door of the gas station, ten paces into the dry lake, he spotted something on the highway. It was large, and putrid. A brahmin lay, scorched to the bone. All at once, Graham knew the evil in this lake, and in a moment of madness, he smiled.

_Ants that breathe fire. For every man who forgot the meaning of life, there would be fire. _

Graham ran to the brahmin, replacing his pistol in its holster, and removing a machete he grabbed from a legionnaire he killed earlier. Reaching the brahmin, he grabbed its leg, and swung the machete for all it was worth. The blade cut through the meat, coming to a hard stop in the bone. Joshua pried it out, and let loose another blow, the bone snapped, and the machete carved through the rest of the leg. Blood came forth from the animal. Joshua could sense the stink permeating his clothes. Brahmin leg in hand, he ran out into the dry lake. Fifty paces in, he could hear the crawling, like an army of antennas all wriggling harmoniously. He lowered the leg to the ground, smearing the blood into the desert as he made his way back to the gas station. The wind was blowing with such ferocity it was nearly impossible to see. Fortunately, it was blowing parallel to his direction of travel, and he could see his foes lined up, scanning for him. Joshua grabbed his pistol and opened fire. The raiders, dumbfounded, retreated into the station. Finishing his clip Joshua launched the leg into the window, and reloaded. The ants had gained on him considerably. Having abandoned the brahmin leg, Joshua bolted south. He did not look back.

* * *

"So this legion slayer, who do you think he is?" Spade piped up, ending a nice, long lasting silence

"I reckon the Chief already knows who he is." Responded Betsy, who was halfway down a bottle of water.

"You think?" 10's voice adopted a worried tone.

"Sure, probably not many folks who incur the "silent" wrath of Caesar. He's probably someone who was close to Caesar, someone with intimate knowledge of the Legion. Which is fine and dandy, but this man doesn't seem like he wants to come discuss it with us, which normally, would also be fine and dandy, but I figure this man has similar goals to us, and someone of his skill, knowledge, and symbolism to Caesar is a valuable asset."

10 began another of what would have evolved into a flood of questions, surely, but he was cut off by the stilling of the group. Smoke billowed from the El Dorado gas station, and the place was ablaze. A man ran out of the door. Slapping at his fiery clothing, he slammed into a gas pump. The pump caught fire. The unit had nothing to do. They stood in amazement as the blazing pumps exploded. Pieces of machinery and human beings blasted out in every direction. Sterling pulled out his binoculars. Scanning the horizon, he discovered the fire ants from El Dorado dry lake had migrated into the station, and had, as fire breathing beasts are wont to do, torched the place and all its inhabitants. Sterling's eyes narrowed.

_What could possibly have invoked such blind wrath from these fire ants? We're damn near safer off walking through the dry lake, now that the whole colony's moved into the gas station. _

10 finally broke the silence, as was his norm, "What in the fuck is going on?"

As Sterling prepared to voice his similar confusion, he spotted a figure just past the smoke. Difficult to make out, but undoubtedly a man worth catching up with.

"We should be able to sneak around the east side, we have someone to talk to."

* * *

Up in the mouth of a ridiculous green dinosaur, Boone peered through the scope of his hunting rifle. He had watched the entire scene, the mysterious man dragging a brahmin leg to the building, and letting the fire ants take care of the raiders. The man now walked, calmly, collectively, as if now without burden, towards Novac. Smoke bloomed up high into the sky, and the flames had almost entirely engulfed the station. Boone pulled his eye from the scope, gave his head a shake, and resumed his examination. The man was of average height, strong build, and sported a couple of weapons. A pistol, which Boone knew was only necessary in this world, and was in no way a threat. The second, although the stock was the only visible part, was clearly a trail carbine, which was uncommon, to be sure, but even that was dismissible to Boone. The thing that was cause for concern, was the body armor the man wore, which was no armor Boone had ever seen. It had the look of pre-war SWAT armor, and Boone wagered it likely was. The quality of the armor was of no concern, what was concerning about it was that it was not of this state. Graham examined the acronym emblazoned on the chest piece.

_SLCPD._

Graham searched every corner of his brain for a meaning to it, finally finding the answer.

_Salt Lake City Police Department. _

Boone squinted hard, and murmured to himself, "What the fuck?" No sooner did he remark upon the weirdness of the situation, than than did he find cause to find it weirder. Returning his sight back to the police station, he found the NCR 1st Recon, of which he was an ex-member, trailing this foreigner.

* * *

Sterling guessed a hundred paces between their unit and the man, whom Sterling had noted was clearly the man they were looking for. The group hastened their pace in anticipation. As they drew within twenty yards. The man whirled quickly and drew a gun. The unit stopped. Sterling cursed their carelessness.

"What cause does the NCR have to impede my business?" The man's voice was deep, confident, and erudite, but that all came second to the ominous look portrayed by his face. Stone grey eyes, which conveyed no emotion. The rest of his face was guarded by the bandages. He held the gun perfectly still, pointed directly at Sterling. The unit, by Sterling's lead, all raised their hands in submission.

"You were involved in a run in with some Legion boys a couple days ago. A man, Fitz, was killed in the fight. We were hoping you'd come with us, let us know what's going on, answer some questions."

"I am sorry to have wasted your time, but I will not be going with you."

* * *

Graham studied the characters in front of him, notably, the red berets adorning their heads, signifying their status in the 1st Recon unit of the NCR. Joshua knew the unit. Top caliber snipers, and half responsible for his failure at Hoover Dam, a responsibility he no longer scorned them for, but even then, it didn't help to let 1st Recon get the drop on you. The small one spoke:

"You have to, or we're bringing you in! Why are you pointing a gun at us? We aren't your enemy!" 10 exclaimed. The one who looked to have the most winters under his belt fired him a look. Joshua smirked at the boyhood in his voice, and aimed the gun at the boy.

"Nor is the dirt, but we still wear shoes. Besides, you are in no position to bargain."

Like many moments appearing won, this one was not so. A bullet hit the dirt to Graham's left. He fought the urge to spin and fire. The bullet hit the dirt with a small explosion, the sound of the gun came momentarily after it, meaning it was a fairly high caliber weapon, fired from a decent range. Joshua practically face palmed.

_The dinosaur mouth._

Joshua sighed. Holstering his gun, he raised his hands in surrender.


	8. Psalms for the Stalwart

Joshua walked with First Recon up the slight incline south to Novac. Since a gun was clearly trained on Graham, there was a general consensus, the group knew, there was no need to bind his hands. They were a reasonable bunch, Joshua admitted. Although this didn't mean he was allowed to keep his weapons. The five of them rounded a chain link fence marking the territory of the town of Novac. Joshua examined the place. It wasn't much to look at, save for the enormous monument erected on the west side. Joshua looked up into the mouth of the dinosaur, where he found a gun barrel pointing back at him. The glint of the sun reflecting off a pair of black shades was the only thing he could gather of whom wielded the weapon. A pre-war auto body shop populated the south side of the town, and gave the impression it would collapse any moment, were it properly motivated. Joshua figured the town was populated by no more than twenty people, most of, if not all of whom probably inhabited the motel in the middle of the town. The only other quality worth mentioning was there must be a store somewhere, as brahmin tracks indicated the town was likely a frequent stop for caravanners. Graham was ushered up to the front door of the motel. The eldest Recon member, whose name Joshua had still not acquired, entered the motel. The rest, supposedly, were to wait outside until he returned with a room key.

"So, you kill those legion?" The boy began.

"Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, but he who makes his ways crooked will be found out," Joshua replied, "do you know what that means?"

"Not a goddamn clue."

"It means they killed themselves."

* * *

Sterling grabbed the key from the lady at the desk and turned for the door. Boone would likely lend them a radio. Most importantly, Sterling found, he needed some rest. Opening the door, he found the stranger looking quite comfortable amongst his new company. The five walked down the side of building, until they came to the door that Sterling was instructed was theirs for the night. He raised the key to the door. Having to apply a little force to the key, he knew this motel received little business. The door opened with a crack, and dust plumed as it slid open, revealing a quaint room. It certainly would not house the five of them. Sterling hoped Boone would lend a bed, although he realised he was expecting too much hospitality from the man already. Instructing the stranger to have a seat along with the rest of them, Sterling began:

"Alright, well, first things first, I'm Corporal Sterling, and my friends here are the First Recon, we have information that leads us to believe you may be a man of interest to us, as clearly you are a man of interest to Caesar. Mind tellin' us who you are, where you come from?"

"I have had many names, and I have lived in many places."

"Right, great, well, what was your first name and with which nation do you identify?" Sterling was not excited to find out that this interview was going to be laborious.

"My name is Joshua, and I am a New Canaanite."

"No shit, hey? Never met a New Canaanite before."

"Then I am glad to have provided you the opportunity."

"What are you doing down here? And why is Caesar targeting you?"

"Because I am supposed to be dead."

"Yeah, well, aren't we all, in Caesar's eyes? What did you do to earn such prestige?"

"I have killed many of his men."

"So have we."

"I think you'll find this is," the man paused for a moment, "different."

"Different? Different, like, you killed his boyfriend, different?"

"Different, like, we have history together, different."

Sterling halted the interview, feeling the gravity of the situation intensify. He walked over to the radio Boone had set up in the room during the questioning. Hanlon was already on the radio.

"Corporal, any news on the stranger?"

"Hanlon, we apprehended him outside of Novac about 2 hours ago. We approached him and he drew on us, luckily Craig Boone was up top and managed to help us out."

"You get a name?"

"Says his name's Joshua, from New Canaan. Said he and Caesar know each other."

The line was silent for a moment, "I'll be there tomorrow, tie him up, I'm sure he'll understand."

* * *

Joshua clamped his wrists together for binding. Whoever this Hanlon was, Joshua was certain the man knew who he was. The group took turns for the rest of the night, guarding Joshua, who made no attempt at aggression. Graham decided, after a long day, it was time for a night's sleep, finding comfort in that at least he would not face danger tonight.

_Joshua had long since ditched his coat rack as ran out of supplies. His body ached, his mind barely inhabited his skull, and he was dying of dehydration. After three sleepless nights, Joshua fell to a crawl again. As he did, he gazed upon a familiar sight._

_The church._

_Joshua crawled as hard as he could. Raking the ground, he could feel his wounds reopening, but the pain was lost on him. He was practically flailing by the time a cadre of New Canaanites raced out to rescue him. They carried him the rest of the way. Joshua let his body go limp, and for the first time in a week, he could smell something other than his own burning flesh. He could feel his body rise as they climbed a small set of stairs. A door opened, and soon he was laid out on a surface, where a man in fatigues took over the operation. Joshua hadn't seen a doctor in years. _

"_What's your name? Do you know your name? Can you tell me it?"_

_Joshua opened his mouth to speak, but the words would not come to his lips. Soon, water doused his face and flowed down his throat. Joshua coughed weakly, and redoubled his efforts at relaying his name to the doctor. It was not without pain. For the first time in a week, Joshua spoke, but his name was not the phrase uttered:_

"_Forgive me, brother, I have sinned."_

* * *

With a good night's sleep under everyone's belts, it was as good a day as any to undertake a journey of yesterday's caliber. Unfortunately, their mission was to hold position until Hanlon arrived. Joshua was nothing short of curious.

"Hanlon don't just drop everything and come running for every stranger in the wastes."

"I suppose I'm to feel honored."

"Not sure yet," Sterling responded, honestly having no clue as to the events that would transpire.

It was lunch time before a knock on the door silenced all banter. Sterling rose and walked to the door, which opened with no less pain than it did yesterday. The sun blinded everyone gathered in the room. They all raised hands to cover their eyes so they could focus on the figure in the door frame. Their ears would discern the identity before their eyes would be given the chance.

"Chief Hanlon, I must say, its damn unusual having you out here."

The voice disregarded the awestruck greeting, "How much do you know about the Legion?"

After everyone found a seat, having to borrow seats from Boone's place, Sterling replied, "Not sure what you mean, sir."

"I mean, do you know how it started?"

"Er, not really, sir."

"I've got a lot of money prepared to wager that this man could regale us with a fine tale of it."

Joshua loosed what would barely qualify as a laugh to most, but Hanlon realised that this stranger was not one for comedy. Hanlon continued:

"How about I start, and you tell me if I get something wrong?" Hanlon's tone bordered on patronizing, but Joshua didn't let himself notice.

"You see boys, a long damn time ago, before a few of us here were born, there was a tribe in the east called New Canaan. We never really knew much about them, but they weren't hostile folks. In fact, they were quite religious, not to mention they sure could look after themselves, and they were shrewd negotiators. Surprised the hell out of the NCR to see such a level of civility and society existing in the middle of nowhere. These folks were no raiders. Now later, there would be a Follower of the Apocalypse named Edward Sallow. Now Edward was sent east to study tribal dialects and met up with a New Canaanite who knew these dialects. Now I'm not sure how, but the bunch got themselves captured by a group called the Blackfoot tribe, probably wanted to ransom them back to the Followers or something. This tribe was at war with a bunch of other tribes in the region, and it was losing. Then all of a sudden, the Blackfoot got really good at war, using well maintained weapons, complex explosives beyond the knowledge of the other tribes, and operated tactfully in squads as opposed to full on assault. One by one they conquered every other tribe in the area. Soon after, one of the men, Bill or Bob Calhoun, was sent back to tell the Followers what had happened. Today, Sallow is known as the conqueror of the 86 tribes, but we just him Caesar for short."

"What does any of this have to do with Joshua?"

"That man there is the New Canaanite Caesar met up with in the beginning, he was by Caesar's side during the entire ascension of the Legion. He ain't much to look at now, but I do suppose the legend is pretty grandiose. Hell, Sterling, you've likely met him, same with Craig. You wouldn't recognize him with bandages covering him, but that man is Joshua Graham, did I do alright?" Hanlon finished the story looking towards Graham, who replied:

"As far as stories of the Legion go, I would say so, but I will correct you on one part."

"Let's hear it."

"We weren't taken hostage for ransom, we were taken hostage because I mistranslated."

* * *

While Hanlon radioed General Oliver for advice on the situation, 1st Recon accompanied Graham in the next room, who all had their own flurry of questions to rain upon him.

"So you're the Burned Man?"

"It's not a name I enjoy, but it is what some call me."

"Hey Sterling, you know the tale of the Burned Man?"

"Sure."

"How's it go?"

Sterling sighed, but took comfort in the fact that at least the next few minutes of noise would be his own.

"Caesar's first legate was a man named Joshua Graham. As the legend goes, there wasn't no one nowhere tougher than Joshua, and he showed it in his leading of Caesar's armies. Went decades without losing a battle. But, when the Legion came upon the NCR at Hoover dam, Graham-"

"Met my Waterloo."

"What?"

"It's a saying."

"Anyways, he got his ass kicked at Hoover Dam by none other than our present Chief Hanlon."

Graham cut back in, "It was Oliver, was it not?"

"Yeah, Oliver was calling shots, but when you started to boot our asses back across the dam, Hanlon called for a change in tactic, and Oliver obliged. Told Oliver to get 1st Recon to pick off the centurions. Graham wasn't able to adapt and-"

"You're getting off topic." Graham disliked the story.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, Caesar wanted to make an example to his nation, something about failure not being tolerated. Coated the poor bastard in pitch, lit him ablaze, and rolled him down the canyon. People say he didn't even scream. Everyone thought the Malpais Legate died in that canyon, but the legend lives on, as legends are wont to do." Sterling relaxed on the bed as he finished the story.

"Lit on fire and thrown in the damned Grand Canyon?" 10 exclaimed, "How did you survive?"

Joshua both loathed and loved the question. He loathed living through the pain every time he spoke of it, but the message of it was not lost on him:

"I crawled out of that canyon, took me three days, took me another three to crawl back to New Canaan. The Malpais Legate did die in that canyon, but Joshua Graham would not die so easily. I survived because there are things in this world stronger than all winds, and greater than all fires. I survived because somewhere inside me, a light shone brighter than the darkness that had engulfed me for so long. I baptize you with water, but he who is mightier than I is coming, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. And from the ashes of those fires, sprang new life."

"Well how about that," 10 said dismissively, "Hey, what do you think they're talking about?"

* * *

"I don't think that's a wise use of resources," Hanlon countered Oliver's proposal, "We have a man who's been there to see the Legion rise, and now has a vendetta to kill Caesar, I think he could be an invaluable asset."

"Hanlon, there's no tricky trick that's gonna win this war, Graham might have been a fine Legate, but now he's a T-bone steak, and Caesar is a famished dog."

"Just what are we going to be trading for? Caesar won't go for an armistice, he hates the NCR ideologically, we can't peacefully coexist. Besides, what's gonna happen when Graham finds out we're betraying him? If he survives, and I wager he's survived worse than treachery, the man's gonna kill everyone who calls himself a leader this side of Mexico. That's all excusing the fact that when we go through with this deal, you think Mr. House isn't going to get in on this? We're talking all the people who pose a genuine threat to him within blast radius of one another."

"We're gonna trade him straight across for Legate Lanius, and then execute the hell out of the Legate. Use the vacuum in Caesar's ranks to launch a full scale assault on the Legion."

Just then, a knock came upon the door, Hanlon excused himself, stood, with effort, and walked over to the door, to find Joshua Graham and 1st Recon clogging the doorway. The Malpais Legate spoke with a conviction Hanlon didn't hear enough these days.

"These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world. I have a better plan."


	9. Fires in the Heart, Burns on the Soul

_In this envelope, you will find the resignations of Chief Hanlon, Sergeant Bitter-Root, Corporal Betsy, Corporal Sterling, and Private Emerson "10 of Spades" Brooks. Due to a conflict of interest with the decisions made by the NCR regarding the handling of the situation dealing with the capture of Joshua Graham, current members of the First Recon unit, along with Ranger Chief Hanlon, wish to resign as conscientious objectors. The group will deliver Joshua Graham as an act of good faith, in return for the approval of their resignation. If this objection is not realized by the military, then Chief Hanlon wishes to discharge Corporal Sterling on account of physical disability, Sergeant Bitter-Root for educational pursuits with the Followers of the Apocalypse, for which you will find a signed note from Julia Farkas. Corporal Betsy on grounds of pregnancy, for which you will find a signed doctor's note from a medical doctor located here in Novac. Chief Hanlon's obligation to the military had been satisfied, and therefore he is resigning regardless. Private Brooks is to be discharged for homosexuality._

Colonel Hsu stamped the note with his approval, and filed it away. It was a dark day in the NCR military. He radioed General Oliver.

"I've just approved the resignations of the 1st Recon unit, along with Chief Hanlon, under condition that they deliver Graham to Hoover Dam so that the plan may commence.

"God Damnit! Is Second Recon within the skill required for the upcoming battle?'

"They're less weathered, but they're still highly trained."

"I can't believe that asshole! Defects with our highest caliber squad in the name of a man who not only has no intention of helping the NCR, but has in the past lead armies against us! It's completely asinine!"

"While I may be inclined to agree, I don't believe they plot anything malicious towards the NCR, if anything at all, although I'm not prepared to wager that 1st Recon and Hanlon are actually sitting this one out."

"Can't the NCR demand their cooperation in times of war?"

"Yes, but Hanlon is a persuasive character."

* * *

Joshua walked, in the binds of the NCR military, across the wastes. It was decided that Joshua Graham was to be used as bait to call out the army of Legate Lanius for ambush. The walk to Hoover Dam was long and taxing, and, despite his decision to avoid it, they would pass directly through Boulder City.

The six of them walked back down the incline to El Dorado. Graham looked upon the mess he had made. The ants had returned to their colony, but in their wake was a ruin barely registering as a building anymore. Bodies scorched to the bone lay scattered amongst the wreckage. The group was forced to plug their noses as the smell of burnt flesh filled their lungs. Joshua, accustomed to the foul odor, did not plug his. Joshua closed his eyes as they rounded the hill that would thrust upon them the view of Boulder City. Joshua did not if he was ready to face the wreck. He also knew that life rarely waits for you to be ready. He opened his eyes.

The city was little more than a crater. A few buildings survived the blasts, but most lay in ruin. The entire streets filled with chunks of concrete and wood. It looked as though God shattered a mountain with a mighty hammer. All that remained hospitable in the area was a small building decorated with lights similar to the ones of New Vegas, most likely a bar. Graham fought his own mind as it clawed at the walls of his skull. A heavy breathing rhythm brought him much comfort. The memories flashed through his mind. The slabs of concrete filling the sky, soldiers crying wildly as they ran from the city, NCR gunfire in tow. Graham remembered watching fate unfold around him, like a book being read by the hands of angels. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment, forcing the thoughts away. As they reached the bottom of the hill, Hanlon began.

"I haven't been there since that fateful day either."

"More fateful than you know." Graham replied, suspending the venom in his voice that, in some part of his mind, wanted to be heard.

"More fateful," Hanlon retorted, "than I believe either of us know."

* * *

In the strip of New Vegas, in a casino no one has entered, a robot entered an elevator, destined for the top floor. The doors cracked, and the robot's uni-wheel style pressed forward. Rounding a portion of the doughnut shaped penthouse, it descended a flight of stairs and stood before a massive display screen, which depicted a man of groom and sophistication. The man spoke,

"What have you found out, Victor?"

"Well, sir, it appears that the 1st Recon unit of the NCR military has had a falling out with the military regarding their decision to use Joshua Graham as bait to ambush Caesar's Legate, Lanius. It would seem that the 1st Recon has resigned or defected to aid Joshua Graham's cause, which, with his history with the Legion and his recent betrayal by the NCR, would seem to suggest a plot to assassinate the leaders of both nations. Granted, this may sound a little extreme-"

"No Victor, it doesn't. Joshua Graham is a doer, he carries the word of his God and, he believes, his God's judgement. He has already been scarred by the leader of one nation, and after setting out to kill him, he has been betrayed by the leader of another nation. I do believe this is going to work in our favor quite well, Victor."

"Sir, I've also gathered that NCR president Kimball is scheduled to visit Hoover Dam to motivate the soldiers before the assault on Lanius. If 1st Recon really is in cahoots with Graham, they would do well to capitalize on Kimball's, shall we say, 'vulnerability', at this arrangement."

"I doubt Graham wishes to assassinate Kimball the traditional way, no, he is man of poetry and symbolism. I suspect a kidnapping."

"Sir, I don't think a kidnapping is a feasible achievement-"

"It will be, Victor, because we're going to help."

"Sir?"

"Joshua Graham is one of very few individuals capable of rounding up both Caesar and Kimball in one room. By assisting him in doing so, we will significantly hasten the process required to gain complete control of New Vegas. Eliminating the two leaders will only leave one man left to oppose me, and that is Joshua Graham himself. Since all three will be present in the same place, at the same time, it only makes sense to capitalize on their, shall we say, 'vulnerability'."

* * *

The group was an hour out of Boulder City, a sight that although Joshua lamented at the time, he had now come to peace with. He enjoyed the company of Hanlon, who was a wise old man. As one last loyal action to the NCR, 1st Recon opted to deliver Joshua Graham to Hoover Dam so they may utilize him in the upcoming ambush. Joshua forced his mind still, which, in his mind, was parallel to trying to hold water in your hands. The harder you tried, the easier it seemed to slip away. As Joshua had come to learn, thankfully, even last acts of loyalty occasionally were not without treachery.

"So we're gonna give him to NCR, basically in trade for our resignation?" 10's skepticism had no bounds.

"Yeah, basically," replied Sterling, who, amongst the group, was the only one gifted with the patience to endure 10's constant questions.

"And then we're gonna cover him through the battle?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, there's a bunch of crucial stuff between the trade and the war, remember?"

"Oh, right, the high treason, how could I forget." Like his skepticism, 10 did not lack in sarcasm.

As they discovered the road that would lead them around a small group of mountains to the dam, a sight only seen by the drunkards of New Vegas came rolling around the hill, in a signature one-wheel format. It's front screen, usually depicting a pre-war picture of a police officer, uniquely displayed one of a cowboy. The group reached for their weapons. The robot, uniquely for second time, raised its hands in surrender. Hanlon, the only one of them besides Graham who lacked the capacity for dumbfoundedness, approached the machine, which spoke, also uniquely, in an accent typical of a pre-war cowboy:

"Howdy, folks! Y'all look like yer fixin' to commit some treason! Mr. House would like to extend a helping hand!"

"How does Mr. House figure we're gonna betray the NCR?"

"Well, because you're giving up Mr. Graham here in exchange for your discharge, Mr. House figures you bunch might be in bed with each other, and since Mr. Graham has a vendetta to settle with Caesar, and now the group of you have a vendetta with the NCR, boss would like to help you lot in the abduction of Kimball and the assassination of Caesar!"

Hanlon examined the robot long and thoroughly. Although the help of Mr. House would help the plan, it would also provide it's own hiccup, of sorts.

"How are you gonna help?'

"Well, do you guys have a plan to kidnap the President?"

"We're working on it."

"Mr. House has one prepared, just in case you said that."

The plan was risky, but it also had the highest chance of success, where plots to abduct nation leaders are concerned. The robot described the route planned by Kimball and that he would be chauffeured about in a vertibird. 1st Recon was to incapacitate a pilot, adopt his outfit, and essentially abduct the president via hijacking of the vertibird. Since no commotion will be caused by the hijacking, the NCR would go to battle, where the rest of 1st Recon would cover Graham's advance into Legion territory. In the event that the plot to kill both nation leaders was discovered, the robot assured that Mr. House's forces were prepared to surround the camp to prevent the advance of the NCR, or the retreat of the Legion. This wasn't even the risky part. The highest risk lay in the salvaging of Joshua Graham in the ordeal, who would be forced to face Legate Lanius one on one. Joshua did not hesitate to take the honor.

"That's insanity, Graham!" 10 expressed his concern, "The man is like, eight feet tall, he breaks necks on the battlefield with one hand, swinging a sword the size of the Tops in the other!"

"I was born of war. I can handle him."

"And if he kills you?"

"I've died before. I can handle that, too."

* * *

The group stopped just short of Hoover Dam, where they would rest for the night, before the big day tomorrow. Other than a plan, Mr House really didn't offer much else for help. Graham gazed out into the Black Canyon, a gorge heavily resembling the one he himself was thrown into. The dam was immense, and, though Graham held himself from being so bold, a scar on the face of the earth. He only imagined the beauty that must have inhabited the place before its construction. The Colorado flowing dominantly, the sound of the river rushing up to your ears. However, there is nothing nature can make that can't be used for power, after all, and so it was that the Hoover Dam would be built. Supplying both Nevada and Arizona with power, it was one of the largest hydroelectric generators of its time.

"So why didn't you scream?" 10 began another of his group famous interviews.

"Pardon?" Graham responded.

"The legend says you never screamed."

"I didn't scream because Caesar didn't deserve it. He deserved wondering if I'd survived. All I could hear was the sound of flames taking my body. But I imagine it was a quiet moment for the Legion. Just the sight of my body leaving sight over the edge of the canyon, and nothing left to be said."

"How did you survive?"

"The voice of the Lord divideth the flames of fire."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that even through the fires that consumed me in my days with the Legion, even through the fires that consumed me on the battlefield, and even through the fires that consumed me in that canyon, there are greater forces in this world than the petty fires conjured up by man. The Lord will divide all fires."

"How do you know that?"

Joshua once again recounted verse of the book that held him together, "For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind. Go to sleep."

* * *

_Joshua woke in the comfort of his bed. He awoke, in his mind, in paradise. He could hear people bustling about their day. Traders setting up shop for the day. But most importantly, he could hear the flow of traffic headed to the church. He replaced his bandages, not without stinging pain, but at least he was home. His gazed turned to his window, where a group of people carried on a conversation. Standing, he walked to his door. As he grasped the cool metal of the door knob, he heard yet another sound to add to the medley of noises he would come to be all too familiar with._

_ A woman screaming. _

_ Joshua launched himself out the door. His head swiveled as he searched for the source of the shout. He found a woman crouched over another, and she was riddled with bullet holes. Within moments, the whole place was booming with gunfire. Joshua looked up the hill. Just about at the horizon, tainting the view of a beautiful New Canaan sunrise, was an innumerable group of White Legs. Joshua covered his eyes from the sun and bullets. Running for the nearest building, he kicked in the door with a force he forgot he possessed. He strode into the building, checking every shelf, every drawer, every crevice. In the stand next to the bed, Graham found a .45 auto. He flew back to the front door. Returning his gaze to the sun, the White Legs were nearly upon them. Graham leveled the gun. Arms straight, trigger between the tip and the first knuckle. He let the air escape his lungs. He squeezed the trigger. _

_ Joshua had not fired a gun in a long time. It all came back to him like muscle memory. Dead bodies littered the streets. People that weren't dead were screaming. The few New Canaanites returning fire exhausted their ammunition quickly, and the White Leg were many, perhaps more than they possessed bullets. Joshua opened fire, slowly returning to own house, where he knew several more magazines of .45 auto rounds waited similarly in his bed stand. His movement was slow, and uncovered, full of brass. Bullets perforated the dirt around him in droves. Splinters of woods and brick bolted through the dust and blood that misted the street. Reaching his house, he kicked in his own door. The view of his own house, still unsoiled, its last moments of being so, were not to be wasted. He looked long and hard at his home. A rage kindled inside him. The likes of which he thought had long since passed. He made for the bed stand. Ripping out the top drawer, he snatched the magazines, counting four. With seven round to a clip, that meant twenty-eight more White Legs would lay dead at Joshua's hands today. _

_He exited out the back, opting for a subtle approach this time around. Raising the weapon a second time, he opened fire again. He rounded a corner and spotted the raid. Their painted faces burned themselves into his memory. The sound of their submachine guns rattling out wanton death and destruction also found their way to Joshua's soul. Having caught the group from the side this time, it was almost a return massacre. The adrenaline flowed like the anger in his soul. He clenched his teeth hard. Seven shots, reload, chamber, seven shots, reload. It was as though his body never forgot how to kill. At the end of his ammunition supply, Joshua flipped the weapon, grasping it by the barrel. He ran, remembering his speed again. Catching the raiders, he drew back the pistol and heaved it into the side of a White Leg head. _

_Joshua ran through the hail fire, grabbing White Legs by the neck and smashing their heads with the back of the pistol. Most of them were capable fighters. Strong and wiry, they resisted Joshua. But the grip of the Lord was fast that day, and the strength of the Spirit was insurmountable. Joshua clubbed White Leg after White Leg, most of them survived one blow, but Joshua would send another, until the painted faces of every White Leg was stricken from this place. He prayed as he did it, he prayed the faces would leave his mind, that they would not haunt him so. He screamed as he did it, he screamed so the rage would leave his body. It would seem that although he could beat the paint off every White Leg, he could not beat the White Leg out of his mind. It would seem that killing a thousand White Legs could not avenge the deaths of his brothers and sisters. By the end of the ordeal, at least a hundred dead bodies carpeted the place. The face of every White Leg indistinguishable through the blood and bone that flowed and jutted from their faces. The body of every New Canaanite covered in blood. The blood flowed like water, and the blood flowed from every body, White Leg and New Canaanite alike, mixing and flowing down the street, in an inseparable solution. He fell to his knees. The blood soaked his jeans. Joshua realized he'd forgotten how to cry. _

_It was a hot day. Joshua picked himself up, as he'd grown accustomed to, and left New Canaan. _


	10. Hatred In Full Bloom

Joshua lifted his head from the dirt. All of God's dirt felt the same to the shoes, yet men fight over it with more vigor than they did the lives of their neighbors. Reaching into his pack, he pulled a bottle of water. He stood, hands still bound and walked around the corner. He could hear 10 stir as he did it.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"To change my bandages. If it makes you uneasy, you are welcome to come."

10 sighed into the dirt, blowing some up into his face. Coughing, he spat out, "damn it, fine."

The two sat, Joshua facing away, while 10 watched Joshua change the gauze encompassing his entire body. He quickly and deftly changed his face bandage, so 10 would not be able to see his burned face. But seeing his other burned extremities was not within Joshua's control.

"Holy shit. It hurt changing those things?"

"Every time."

"Why do you change em' every day then? Can't you get away with two or three days?"

"While it's true that having my entire body scorched in flame was extremely painful, it was nothing next to realizing how badly the world burned my soul. I change them every day to remind myself that no matter how lost I was, God deemed me fit for saving."

"Some heavy shit. So this God, you figure he saved you?"

"If you have a better way to explain how a man survives falling half a mile while on fire, crawling for three days uphill, and another three days home, all with skin melting off his body, I am open ears."

* * *

Hanlon woke the rest of the group for what was planned to be a fateful day. Graham and 10 were already packed, having risen earlier than the rest of the group. It didn't take much longer for the others to be ready. It was a two hour walk to Hoover Dam, they were to walk Graham right up to the door, transfer him, and take their separate ways. By noon, the trade to the Legion would commence, likewise would their contingent plan.

The final stretch of road between the group and Hoover Dam saw them traversing a stretch alongside the Black Canyon. Graham let his eyes wander down the massive cliffside before him, not unlike one he'd experienced before. He was tiring of the binds on his wrists, they rubbed his burned skin so. He was also tiring of the Mojave already. It's complete deprivation of soul was nearly unbearable. The dam dominated most of his forward view, a view he did not relish. Hanlon began conversing, much to Joshua's satisfaction, as he found Hanlon to be the most interesting of the group. He looked to be weathered old man, probably close to retirement. He had the eyes that weren't so far off from Joshua's, eyes having seen a thousand tragedies. He could sense Hanlon's soul was much older than his body. The man walked, surprisingly straight backed, a bandana covering the lower portion of his face. A long pistol housed a leather holster clung to his right hip. Its black steel barrel pointed down parallel to his leg. Intricate engravings emblazoned the gun all over, most notably were the words, "Against All Tyrants". The Bear stood golden on the grip of the pistol.

"Where'd you get that gun?" Graham started.

Hanlon, without looking at the weapon, replied, "called a Ranger Sequoia, had it given to me for working as a ranger for twenty years. Only weapon I haven't made a senseless kill with yet."

Graham smiled at the resemblance, "How many men have you killed with it?"

Graham could tell Hanlon was smiling under his bandana. Leaning towards Graham, he posed a notion Joshua hadn't yet thought of, "Zero."

"Not all kills are senseless."

"To the killer, so where'd you get that armor?"

Joshua often forgot he even wore it some days. He looked down, taking notice of it for the first time in weeks.

"Many years ago, I left my hometown of New Canaan to make contact with some of the tribes in the area, notably, the White Legs of Salt Lake City. They were a volatile group, raiders, essentially, but we were a determined bunch. Went there to spread the word, as it were. Our first attempt at contact saw hostilities. We retreated and tried again. This time they chased us for days, until we managed to lose them in Spanish Fork. We went back to New Canaan again and then tried with the White Legs a third time. Anticipating more violence, we stopped at a Salt Lake City police department and broke into the special teams armory, where I found the armor I have worn for many years."

"What happened when you contacted the White Legs the third time?"

Joshua hated the answer to this question, "When we saw how numerous they were, we returned with a force, and gunned them down to a man, the ones in northern Salt Lake City, anyways. Ironically, the ones we left would rally under a courier I had assisting in dominating with the Legion, and raze New Canaan to the ground."

Hanlon's eyes narrowed, and Joshua knew the question before it left his mouth.

"This courier with the flag, who is he?"

"He was part of a tribe the Legion usurped in his uprising. Interesting man, very driven, but not patriotic, to the Legion anyway. I don't suspect we'll be talking with him soon. Conversely, I don't believe he is done talking."

"You want to kill him too?"

Joshua exhaled as he said it, "No."

"Isn't he responsible for the destruction of New Canaan?"

"He led the attack, but just as I do not blame you for my burns, I do not blame him for the pillage of New Canaan."

Hanlon didn't show much emotion, which Joshua could not decide if he preferred or not. Joshua looked towards the dam, which they had neared considerably. He'd seen it before, from a different angle, albeit, but the rear of a bighorner looked the same no matter how you looked at it. The group stepped up onto the concrete making up much of the place. Eyes shot their way as they approached a massive set of doors, inside which waited Oliver. Hanlon couldn't decide if they should knock or just walk in. Just as he put his hand on the door, it fired open. Hanlon caught himself deftly, his right hand made for his gun. He quickly softened his efforts upon discovering the entourage of troops in power armor waiting on the other side. The stoic look on their masks matching the silence in the room. The lot of them hoisted mini-gun packs on their back, the guns themselves pointed out the door, like eyes, ready to blink out death at the pull of a trigger. It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a warm welcome. A figure pushed his way through the soldiers, shouting at them to stand down. Graham saw the disgruntled look surface in Hanlon's eyes, and he knew it had to be the man whom he'd led troops against before. No sooner did he think it did it prove itself true when the star marking him "General" appeared on a brown military hat sorting its way through the confusion.

"My my my, if it isn't the Malpais Legate."

* * *

Joshua sat, bound still, in a large room in what must have been the heart of the dam. A desk, some couches, a little countertop with a coffee maker, and a coffee table made up all the items in it. Sitting on one of the couches, Joshua faced the desk, where General Lee Oliver spoke.

"So, might I ask, what the hell brings the Malpais Legate into the Mojave Wasteland?"

"Going to see an old friend."

"Caesar? Yeah, I reckon you'll get to see him if you make it through the shitfuck we got planned this afternoon."

"I doubt Caesar expects you to hand me over without a fight."

"Well I figure he does."

"All the same to me."

Oliver stood. He was a short, severe looking man, decorated heavily, and well groomed. He walked over to Joshua and sat down in front of him, the smell of cigarettes filled Joshua's nose as Oliver exhaled a puff.

"Yeah, I suppose all things are the same to a dead man."

Joshua was escorted back up to the surface. As the sunlight reentered his weary eyes, Joshua steadied his mind. He would need it this way. Soldiers assembled for what Joshua assumed was an invasion. Looking back the way he came, he noticed something floating through the sky in the distance. He'd never seen a vertibird before, only in books. It floated effortlessly through the sky. As it got closer, Joshua started to hear the roaring of its propellers. It landed gracefully atop the building farthest west. The entire dam went eerily still. The vertibird opened, and a man hopped out, in a suit that could only have come from a pre-war tailor. Joshua deciphered the man's identity. President Kimball. Here to instill vigor in his troops before the great Second Battle of Hoover Dam. In the first, Joshua was the antagonist, but now he knew, in the second battle, he would be the hero.

* * *

Sterling wiped the dust off his watch, and shortly after, the sweat from his brow. Less than an hour until Graham would be marched to the doors to Legion territory, and Kimball would board his vertibird back to California. Sterling had underestimated the delicacy of the timing. It must be otherworldly. The kidnapping was almost entirely in his hands. Sterling steadied his breathing. This act would be the one to define him. The act that will outlive him. The one people read about. Kids will ask their parents about the man that kidnapped the president. Sterling wondered if he would live on in infamy. He cursed. Integrity seemed to have no place in this world anymore, yet it was all people had left. Sterling knew his integrity had no place in the history books, people will not remember his many good deeds, or his good character, they will all live in the shadows of this one day. Only a handful may live knowing the intent.

The president began his speech, Sterling had lost track of the time. Life was speeding up too fast for him these days. Sterling rounded the corner and started up the stairs to the president's vertibird. His ranger armor meant nobody questioned his motive. It was like not existing. He stared straight ahead, his eyes passing several stairs with every step. They ascended, like arrows of fate, they guided him. Once he topped the building, he saw the pilot, leaning against the vertibird. Sterling's throat closed in on itself as he approached the man. The president must have been giving a fantastic speech, for the crowd was tireless in their cheers. The pilot's face was invisible behind his mask. As Sterling came within hitting distance, the pilot began to speak.

"Damn fine day for a-"

Sterling cut him off with a jab in the throat. The pilot gasped for air that would not come to his beckons. Sterling took hold of the pilot's head. Removing his mask with a hard pull, he heaved the man's head into the side of the vertibird. Sterling carefully placed the man's unconscious body in the vertibird, his back aching slightly as he did so. He diligently removed the pilot's clothes and then his own, careful not to make any form of noise to give him up. He moved the body to the back of vertibird, so as not to alarm the president. It was hard for him to register the gravity of the scenario he'd just generated. In minutes, the president would finish his speech, and climb the same staircase Sterling had, but this time, the president could not know what waited for him. He only hoped everything was going as well for the rest of 1st Recon, or this would all be a valiant effort in vain. He sat in the cockpit of the machine, remembering the intricacies of his ranger training, of which flying vertibirds was surprisingly present, though he hadn't needed the knowledge much until today, and today would be the day he would abuse this knowledge. The irony kept him company until a hatless, groomed head appeared from the staircase. The head of the man he was going to abduct, the president of the New California Republic, Aaron Kimball. Sterling swallowed hard. He readied the movements he'd prepared for hours, and as Kimball climbed into the vertibird, Sterling closed the door. He slowly ascended with the vertibird, his hands shook wildly as he handled the controls. Corporal Sterling had just abducted President Kimball.

* * *

Joshua looked across the hill. Not much else than sand and wind occupied this empty stretch of land. He stood, alone, waiting for Lanius to come retrieve him. A head bloomed from the horizon. Joshua had always wondered what insane costume Caesar would dream up for his next legate. A steel mask with red details, and an enraged look on the face. It neared slowly, fearlessly. The man was immense, and covered head to toe in armor thick enough to withstand a barrage of gunfire. Joshua knew the man must be impossibly strong. A weapon at least as long as Graham's own body hung down the man's back. Indeed, the man was terrifying, but Joshua had lost the capacity for fear long ago. Joshua stood up to greet the man, who stopped ten yard in front of Graham. The Legion army was visible now, and somewhere the NCR army lay in wait. There was no sound, the wind died, and the sand settled. The crowd gazed at the two, as if by their queue, the war would begin.

"So this is what has become of the Malpais Legate?"

Joshua felt himself above gracing the man's arrogance with a reply, so Lanius spoke again. His voice was calm, never raised. If there was anything Joshua enjoyed about the encounter, it would be his collectiveness in conversation.

"I have waited years for this day, Graham, I have killed many men, snapped a thousand necks, sliced a thousand throats, all for this."

"This must be quite exciting for you, then. You see, I too, have dreamed of this day, but you will be little more than an inconvenience in it."

"If that is what you think, Joshua. Come and meet your killer."

"Time will kill us all, Monster. But I have died before."

Lanius ran at him with a speed Joshua expected, but was still impressed by. The man must be impossibly fast without his armor on, Joshua noted, as he ducked Lanius' first swing. The Monster used his momentum to rally another large scale attack. Joshua leaned back to achieve the dodge this team. Lanius stepped toward him, it was a swift movement, the man was built for war.

The story surrounding Lanius' rise to Legate is almost completely clouded in myth. They say when Caesar was handling a tribe called the Hidebarks, initially, the group fought back. After finally realizing that the Legion would cut them down to a man, the tribe surrendered. Lanius, the acting war chief of the tribe, flew into a rage and began slaughtering members of his tribe. As the legend goes, the Legion practically beat the skin off his face before he fell to them. When he woke, Caesar granted him the title of Legate, since the position's opening following Joshua's expulsion, and a mask to cover his now scarred face. In his days with the Hidebarks, he would attack entire groups of legionaries by himself, and apparently became so strong and so fast, it was wondered if he was really human. A fantastic tale, but Joshua knew the legend of the Monster of the East was going to die today. In a battle of two myths, Joshua knew, the victor would be the truer.

His armor was too heavy. Sure, he could run in it like the wind, and the could stand in it like an oak tree, but the momentum gained by moving his legs would be too great to reverse easily. Joshua spun around the leg, planting his foot in the side of the man's knee, and heaved on it. He pushed so hard on the Monster's joint he lifted himself off the ground slightly. The knee gave with a booming crack. Joshua could hear Lanius silencing his own cries of pain as the man spun with his hip, trying to hit Graham with a punch. This movement, too, would work against him, as Joshua continued around to Lanius' left leg. He watched the previously broken knee spill forth blood as the bone raked the inside of the armor. It hit the ground awkwardly. Placing his foot again on the kneecap of Lanius' good leg, he drew all the power his leg had into breaking Lanius' other leg. This one cracked loudly as well, but was more easily snapped with the assistance of Lanius' own body weight. Both knees drove into the sand inwardly, and Lanius let out a war cry. It would be his last. He groped at Joshua in a frenzy. Joshua, hands bound, ducked Lanius' grasp and distanced himself from the defeated Monster of the East.

* * *

10, Bitter-Root, and Betsy watched the spectacle from afar. Still no sounds from either army, still no indicator that either was going to charge. They watched in awe as the legend of Joshua Graham came to life before them. By all accounts, this was a lost fight for Graham from the start. It was figured that Lanius was simply too much stronger, too much faster, and too much more the Monster to lose to the zen like Joshua. Their affirmations would be dispelled less than twenty seconds into the clash of the two greatest legends in the Legion. Lanius swung with great strength, but Joshua dodged with greater calculation. Lanius stepped with astounding speed, but Graham moved with unmatched timing. The three winced as Joshua snapped both of the man's legs with relative ease. The Monster of the East had been reduced to a flailing dead man in a sea of sand. It would seem, however, that the Malpais Legate was not quite finished.

"Holy shit! You're seeing this, right?"

Bitter-Root and Betsy could not believe their eyes either.

"Joshua's killing him!"

"Killing him? He's making a fucking joke out of him!"

"Calm down. I agree, this is the craziest thing I've seen, but we're about to be called upon for the most important task we may ever be a part of, and we need to be ready."

10 returned his eye to his scope. Bitter-Root was right. Besides, the fight was not over yet.

* * *

Lanius could barely balance on his broken extremities. He grunted with every breath, and bled heavily.

"Monster of the East, return to the dirt whence you came."

Joshua wrapped his bound hands around one of the flurry of grabs Lanius continued to levy at him. Stepping around the hulk, he raised his foot.

"Feel the foot in your back, as I felt it!"

Joshua kicked Lanius face first into the sand. The overly ornate helmet hit the ground hard, like a sack of potatoes. Joshua broke the man's arms. Lanius cried louder than Joshua thought him capable of. It would seem even the toughest can be made to cry. His noises resonated through the still air, echoing through space and hearts alike. Lanius crawled back towards his men, who stood, frozen in place, as if the air stilled them as well.

"Crawl, as I crawled!" Joshua was raving now. The hate came back to him a full bloom. He grabbed the Monster by his neck. Dragging him in a semi-circle to view the NCR army, Lanius tried many fruitless efforts to free himself. Joshua spoke, directly into Lanius' ear.

"Gaze upon the army that will usurp the monstrosity you have pledged to aid. Feel the pain you have inflicted upon countless others. But most importantly, hear my words, hear the voice of the legend that preceded you, listen to the legend that will now outlive you, and die by the hands that pass forth your judgement."

Joshua pulled back hard on the man's head. His neck was impossibly strong, but the wrath of God was stronger. The neck snapped, and the Monster of the East's last noise would be the sound of his own helmet crashing into the Mojave dust.

* * *

_My story is coming to an end :( What do you think so far?_


	11. Built for War

As if the death of Lanius was prompt for charge, the Legion soldiers broke into a sprint. Joshua could hear the footsteps of thousands shaking the earth, answered by the thunder of a thousand bullets from the NCR army. Joshua looked into the distance, where the wall of legionaries approached fast. His eyes narrowed. Pulling a machete from Lanius' body, he ran at the army. A faint cloud of blood misted from the army, and they fell to the ground by the handful. The Second Battle of Hoover Dam unfolded, with him at the center. He pushed his legs. The adrenaline flowed like rivers, as did the hate that burned in his heart. The nearest recruits drew their weapons. Joshua could see the formation. Recruits in front, veterans in the back, just as he would charge them on others, did they charge on him. Only these recruits could not be ready for what charged at them, a one man army. Joshua deflected the first machete with his own, his blade cutting deep into the man's throat. Joshua deflected blow after blow, swing after swing. Never before had he appreciated the philosophy of Caesar's battle formations than when he was cutting through them himself. The attacks he dodged, blocked, or deflected became increasingly calculated, incrementally stronger, and steadily smarter. As he entered the most experienced wave of soldiers, he began to rely more and more on 1st Recons reliable cover, and began to abandon his defense in favor of carving through the army quicker. Besides, he would need the stamina in his arms for when he reached the back, where the centurions waited to clean up anyone who survived the previous waves.

* * *

Even with the muffs on, 10's ears were starting to ring considerably. Gunshot after gunshot rang out from their hiding place. He never really liked the feeling of splitting a skull with a .308 round, but from this distance, hitting anything felt invigorating. The beauty of the bolt action between each shot provided 10 with the rush he needed to continue. Being able to akin the killing to shooting giant rats back home, he consoled himself in the comfort of being on the good side.

Joshua was quick, and discerning the genuine threats from the ones who would not be was the hardest thing 10 had ever done. He peered hard, often having to shoot soldiers who were well ahead of Joshua, so as not to let an overwhelming group close the gap. He stared at Joshua's flowing movement on the battlefield. Never once was he merely running. Always swinging, always ducking, sometimes sliding or rolling. Every movement a gambit for an opponent whom he was too many moves ahead of. Bodies piled in his wake. Joshua lept over the dead and cut the throats of the living.

10, in a rare moment of anticipation, moved his scoped view ahead in the crowd. A Legion Centurion ordered his troops to charge Joshua, 10 nearly shouted.

"Two o'clock! Centurion!"

The others adjusted their view.

"Shit! Joshua can handle himself, focus on that compact group!"

The three of them shared a moment of eerie silence, readjusting and assuring their aim, before they unleashed a maelstrom of gunfire. Blood fountained from the group as the bullets found their way into heads, necks, and chests alike. The Centurion quickly noticed the assault, and ordered his troops to hasten. They quickly closed in on Joshua.

* * *

Joshua noticed the softening of effort to cover him, and assumed that something must be awry. Carving a gap ahead of himself, he focused his eyes on the group ahead of him. A Legion standard bearer stood proud amidst a large group of veteran soldiers. Barely visible was the frill atop the helmet of the centurion leading the group. The squadron suddenly took cover, as a hailstorm of rounds pierced them in droves. The faint cry of the centurion pushing them further caught the extremity of Joshua's hearing. The group redoubled its efforts and moved uniformly, with incredible pace, toward Joshua. Joshua's mind, however, did not race, nor did his limbs tremble. Breathing deeply, he stared at the crowd, purposefully. He broke into a sprint. The hate could not be silenced, it could not be stilled. He lunged at the group bodily. Spinning and swinging madly, Joshua's borrowed machete cleaved through the faces of men he once commanded. Dodging instinctually, the group could not make sense of the frenzy Joshua brought to the heart of it. Grabbing a neck, Joshua used the man to absorb blows as he discarded his machete and discovered the use of a spear. Face after unfortunate face caved inward to the force of the spear. But the carnage was catching up with Joshua, as dead bodies began encumbering him badly. Before he could adapt his strategy, Joshua was nearly completely blanketed with the dead.

* * *

The three watched as Joshua launched himself into the fray. He felled foe after foe, like a machine harvesting war. Unfortunately, the group were many, and they slowed his advance so. The death in his wake soon caught up, and the group could only bear witness as Joshua was completely engulfed in dead bodies.

"Ah fuck! What the fuck do we do? They're gonna dig him up and kill him!" 10 had never experienced, or for that matter seen, such lunacy on a battlefield.

"If he doesn't suffocate first. There isn't much we can do. Keep shooting" Bitter-Root's confidence was assuring, and 10 valued it greatly. He pointed his gun toward the centurion, who kept tactfully behind cover. 10 then did something life had rarely called on him to do, either that or 10 just never heard the calls.

10 waited.

Bitter-root noticed 10's unusual reserve, "What're you waiting for?"

"I'm gonna put a bullet in a centurion at twelve hundred yards."

"Forget it. Even if you could hit him, and I'm not convinced you could, he ain't leaving that cover."

But the wind was perfect, and the drop was easy to calculate, and 10 knew that you don't get many chances to shoot a centurion.

The centurion's arms pointed and gestured wildly. He continued to issue orders for his squad to continue forward, and when he did so, his arm ventured from behind his cover farther than a wise man would advise it to, and 10 fired. He waited again, figuring the bullet to have stopped for lunch along its way. Suddenly, the man's arm exploded in a red cloud. The bullet contacted with the elbow, piercing through the weak point in the armor. The forearm piece of the armor fell to the ground. The soldiers arm did not extend past his elbow any longer. 10 admired his shot aloud.

"Hah! Did you see that shot?"

Bitter-Root laughed, the first 10 had heard him do so.

"That's gotta be the longest shot in the history of the NCR"

"Give you fifty bucks if you can hit him in the head now."

10 concentrated hard. The man had fallen down, head exposed, and there was money on the line this time. 10 fired a second time. Bitter-Root shook his head, reaching into his pocket to pull out a fifty dollar bill, as the man's head erupted into the air. 10 was ecstatic.

"Thumbs down, fucker!"

Bitter-Root joked, "You ought to put down shooting after this."

"Why?"

"Because you will never shoot a finer shot."

* * *

Sterling landed the vertibird on top of a hill where could only be adequately described, as Kimball put it:

"Why have we landed in the middle of friggin' nowhere?"

Sterling exited the vertibird. Luckily, his mind had calmed drastically now, as he was beyond the point of return. Opening the hatch shielding Kimball inside, Sterling leveled a pistol at the president of his country. The gravity of the situation was not lost on him.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. President, but we've kidnapped you. For your own good, I promise."

"Kidnapped? For my own good? Soldier, you're in a heap of shit, you know that? I'm the goddamn president of the New California Republic, what good reason could you possibly have for abducting me?"

Sterling bit his tongue.

"I'm sorry, Mr. President, sir, but I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to be divulging such information."

Sterling could see the confusion in the president's eyes, "Who the fuck are you?"

* * *

Joshua's knees buckled under the weight of the many dead he'd created. Man by dead man, his foes piled on top of him, until the sun no longer shone. Joshua partied all his strength into moving them, but they lay about him with the density of dying sons. They shifted to fill the gaps he created with his movements, like fluid, until he could no longer move. Their blood fell from their bodies like waterfalls, staining Joshua's gauze. Joshua wriggled as hard as he could muster. Finally, his right arm found some room. Footsteps paraded past him by the hundreds, practically shaking the earth as they did so. He grasped one of the legionaries' machetes. With no room but the six inches in front of his face, Joshua placed the blade on the midsection of the man directly on top of him. He carved it into the flesh, blood poured forth without hesitation. Joshua pushed on the blade hard as he sawed through the bones and organs. Deftly carving in between ribs, Joshua's machete stopped hard on the man's spine. His frustration was building, and he used to maniacally cleave through the spine. Joshua stopped breathing through his nose, in an effort to comfort himself, as the body split in half. He punched through it, rolling the bodies atop it over. His hand found the air, and his eyes found sunlight shortly after. He forced himself upright, forcing his head and upper chest through the two halves of the man he'd butchered. Bringing in his legs from entrapment, he launched himself out of the pile of bodies. Looking upon the macabre mountain of death he'd created, Joshua let out a breath of lament. Turning forward in his endeavor, he began sprinting again. The air blew the blood off of him as he ran, but his bandages could not be rid of it. The blood clung to him like his past.

* * *

10 yelped in excitement as Joshua erupted from the stack of death.

"He's alright!"

Bitter-Root too, was impressed, "That man's forgotten how to die."

"You think Sterling managed to handle the president?"

"Yeah, Sterling's a twenty year guy, besides, he got the easy part, he only had to trick the NCR. Makes me wonder what Hanlon is up to."

10 smiled as he squeezed the trigger of his rifle, dropping another foe for the Malpais Legate's advance.

* * *

"Boss, Caesar's Legion and the NCR have engaged in full out combat."

"And what of Joshua Graham and 1st Recon?"

"I witnessed the kidnapping myself, the hijacked vertibird is en route to the Legion camp, Graham is cutting a path of death through the Legion army as we speak. By my estimates, I figure he ought to have the both of em' rounded up in a few hours or so.

"Exemplary, Victor, prepare the securitrons below the Legion fort. We'll sweep in when Joshua and the NCR have taken it."

"Boss, uh, what of this Hanlon character?"

"The washed up ranger from a bygone era? I do believe we won't be hearing from him again, his part in this story is over. Only our part remains.

"Shall I prepare the champagne?" The robot was not without a sense of humor.

Mr. House cracked a short laugh. It had been too long since he had done so. He had figured, however, he would have the last one.


	12. To the Dust We Shall Return

Joshua ran for what felt like hours. He ran uphill, and his legs begged him to stop. He ran through the wind and the dirt blowing with it, and his lungs screamed at him to quit. His heart raced in rhythm to every stride, up the hill to the fort in which Caesar resided. He prayed the NCR was not far behind him.

Joshua prayed for a lot of things.

He prayed First Recon could keep pace with him, he prayed he could outlast this journey, he prayed that the winds and the sun not take him, not just yet. Most importantly, he prayed for the strength to face Caesar with the collective he utilized to face all things in life. He prayed for the friends he'd made along the way. The friends who sacrificed for him, the friends who gave up their careers for him, and the friends who may give up their lives for him. He realized he'd forgotten to thank them, for they had blessed him so.

The door to the fort appeared ahead, posted by which were two Legion guards. Joshua's mind scratched at his skull. Pieces of him wanted to turn back, but the path of the righteous was without bend, and Joshua would walk it as such. The guards pulled out their machetes at the site of the blood infused Joshua racing towards them. They could not be prepared for what came their way. Joshua pulled his machete from his side. They attacked simultaneously, which, given the probability of success, was a preferable decision. Given the circumstances, however, it was inadvisable to attack at all. Joshua stopped short of the attacks, the two swings missing him by a close enough margin for Joshua to sweep one blow, and catch both throats. The two barely registered the attacks, but as sure as the sunrise in Zion did the blood flow forth from their necks. They abandoned their weapons without hesitation, and grabbed at their spurting throats. Soon followed their blood curdled gasps for air, and the sound of their knees hitting the ground. They mirrored each other, as if all men somehow died the same.

* * *

Sterling lowered the weapon, "Alright, we have to get going."

The president was vocal of his frustration, "Go fucking where?"

"Just get in the vertibird, Mr. President, I have to take you to Caesar's camp."

"No, you won't be."

Sterling wished he had the time to think long and hard about the proper course of action to take in the particular scenario he found himself in. He found, however, that life rarely afforded a man enough time for such moments. He raised the pistol, and slammed it into the head of President Kimball. His body lost its rigidity, and fell limply to the dirt. Sterling cursed. Then he began laughing.

"Well, if you're kidnap the president, you might as well assault him while you're at it."

Kimball's unconscious body was a lot more agreeable than his animated one, and Sterling assisted it back into the vertibird, making sure to reapply the handcuffs, as he imagined the president to be mighty ornery when he awakened.

* * *

10, Bitter-Root, and Betsy ran as Joshua did. That was to say, they ran as hard as the limits of their bodies would grant them to. Joshua may be able to make it to Caesar's tent, but even he knew he was no match for the entire praetorian guard Caesar stationed within it, and the prospect of fighting Caesar personal entourage wasn't just unpreferable, it was insanity, a death wish, even.

The praetorian guard are hand picked soldiers that have served long enough and committed enough murder to be acknowledged as the best. When a legionary is selected, he (or she, but the event would likely never take place due to the nature of being a legion woman) must select the soldier currently in the praetorian guard whom he believes he can best in a fight to the death. If he is successful, he is inducted. A system resulting in a troop of the most nightmarish individuals one would ever face in a close quarters battle. A system that meant every man who joins it must kill, and who leaves it by being slain himself. This was ignoring the fact that they all wore ballistic fists, wrist-mounted shotguns that fired by means of a weight plate across the knuckles. At medium range, they could technically employ the weapon by pressing the plate, but they rarely utilized it as such. For the most part, they were used for hand to hand combat, which felt like, 10 could only imagine, being punched with a grenade blast. Forced to take an alternate route to the camp, the three of them figured they would be just in time to aid Joshua, if they hurried.

"We gotta bust some ass! Graham will be in the tent in less than ten minutes!"

"He ain't fucking stupid, he won't go in that tent without us."

"Doesn't mean we shouldn't hurry!"

As they neared the door to the fort, they were quick to notice the wake of Joshua Graham. Warily, the three pulled their submachine guns from their holsters, and, somewhere in each of their minds, spoke a small prayer.

* * *

Chief Hanlon trudged up the dullest set of stairs he figured he'd ever climbed. It was a long walk, and he was an aging man, and sun was hot this day. He clutched the letter in his pocket, a letter one doesn't acquire in this world easily anymore. Its power, in the form of the humblest piece of paper he ever held, couldn't find its way out of his mind. He feared what would become of Joshua, he feared for the First Recon and their resulting publicity following this charade. He reached the top of the stairs. Trails of men who had walked this path before littered the Mojave earth. He imagined some of them were good men, likely led good lives. Some of them were likely the prints of the doers of evil. It seemed, however, that important men always left the easiest discerned flags of their actions.

* * *

Joshua entered the main portion of the camp. It had been so long since he last laid eyes upon it. Tents plagued the encampment, forming streets lined with the makeshift housing. A blacksmith sharpened a machete not far to his right. The blade glowed a light orange, and sparks showered the dirt. A spear leaned against the tent beside him. The arena still dominated most of the place, but the eye drew itself towards the massive tent stationed overlooking the rest of the camp. It was the tent Joshua had conducted many a war from, the tent he committed many a sin inside. It was the tent of Caesar. It was guarded with a praetorian out front. He looked around. The camp began to still itself, as if silence would be Joshua's welcome. The grindstone to his right began to lose spin, soldiers in their tents stopped their bustling about. Even the crowd gathered at the arena lost interest in it, favoring the sight of the Burned Man, having returned to the heart of the mountain that cast him out. Joshua started to run. Time slowed to a crawl. Joshua ran for the blacksmith. The man attempted to stand, but Joshua descended upon him too quick. He grabbed the machete, and, in the same movement, sliced the throat of the legionary. The still hot blade carved through easily. Joshua let his forward movement slide the blade across the man's esophagus. He let the blade do the cutting, it needed no coaxing. The spear just behind the blacksmith found Joshua's throwing arm, and in a spinning motion, he loosed the weapon toward the praetorian at the tent. The guard caught notice of the projectile too late, and it impacted the center of his chest, sending him through the tent door. If Caesar was not aware of him before, Joshua had hoped he would be now. The entire camp began to mobilize. His heart sank ever so slightly in his chest, and shortly after, it rose again, strangely enough, to the sound of gunfire coming from behind him.

"You got a knack for gettin' in shit!" The almost too familiar voice of 10 was on this occasion a treat for the ears. Legion soldiers poured into the bottleneck created by the tents, they dropped not at all dissimilar to the White Legs back in New Canaan, many years ago. Their agonized expressions fell into the dust as bullets perforated the army. The substantially under prepared army could not hope to reach the heavily armed group. The camp fell silent as the guns reached the ends of their magazines. Joshua had to practically climb the mountain of bodies generated by the submachine gun massacre. As he reached its summit, he saw a sight worse than a fully mobile Legion camp.

A fully mobile praetorian guard.

With empty guns and nothing but knives and the butts of rifles, the four could not hope to face Caesar's finest. They realized simultaneously, however, that they could not survive this mission and not succeed. They raised what little weaponry they had and charged at the enemy. Joshua looked to his side. 10 and Bitter-Root were little more than kids. Even if they were super-mutants, they could not survive an encounter with a praetorian, especially not one armed with a wrist mounted shotgun. But God, Graham found, so very rarely played with dice. The praetorian guard were strong, and they paraded from the tent in a line. They all readied their ballistic fists. Each of them as strong and wiry as the next. But it doesn't matter how strong you are, there is no man alive that can live through the blast of a missile supplied by a sky born vertibird. Joshua smiled and turned his gaze skyward, to find the waving Corporal Sterling in the cockpit. He hastened his pace for the tent. There was only one demon left to face this day.

* * *

Hanlon came to a door at the top of the stairs he'd labored in ascending. He passed through it. Inside, the paths were lined with the flags left behind by the great men of his time. He looked at them all. Amazing deeds accomplished by equally amazing people. All so similar, yet so very different. This place wasn't entirely foreign to him, he'd gazed upon it many a time, but he had never seen it in such a state. He climbed more stairs. His back could hardly handle such long walks anymore. He admitted this one may be his last.

_So be it, _he thought, as he reached the top of the stairs. He figured if any walk would be his last, let it be this one. As he neared the door, the ground began to tremble, directly beneath his feet.

* * *

Joshua looked to the end of the tent. His anger was overwhelming. The burns on his back, on his arms, his legs, his chest, and the ones that marred his face. The bandages that wrapped his body like a cocoon, the anger that infested his mind like a hive of cazadores. All of it made possible by the man sitting no more than twenty feet in front of him. He clawed for his composure. In his mind, this man may as well already have died. He would do just as well to take his own life at this moment.

"Joshua, it's nice to see you again."

Joshua ran at him. The speed he garnered could not be surpassed, the wrath he prepared to bring on this man was unparalleled, the pain he planned to return his way could not be stopped. Caesar stood, attempting to level a displacer glove at Graham's chest. Graham had never been more prepared for any attack in his life. No amount of trickery could leave Caesar's mind that Joshua hadn't anticipated. He was smart, and for years he would lord his intelligence over the people of the waste, but it would end here. Caesar could not win this fight. Perhaps less than a perceivable moment passed before Joshua gripped Caesar tight by the throat, but Joshua did not travel the Mojave to strangle Caesar. He did not brave the raiders and the Legion squads to walk in and shoot Caesar. He did not pit himself one on one against the Monster of the East to merely get an audience from Caesar. No, it would be Caesar who play audience this time. This time, it would be Joshua Graham who would preach. Holding him to his knees, Joshua spoke with a conviction, a damnation, a patronization he had saved for this moment. Joshua's eyes teared up. He had saved the tears, he'd saved the sweat, he's saved the screaming in his mind for this day. All his sins, all the wrongs in his life could be righted in this moment. Joshua spoke:

"And on the pedestal these words appear: 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains: round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,the lone and level sands stretch far away. Do you know what it means?"

"Joshua, please d-"

"DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS?" Joshua yelled. Doing so triggered excruciating pain, but in light of the circumstances, all pain would be a fair trade to Joshua Graham.

"Yes I know what it fucking means!"

Joshua threw Caesar into the dirt. The aging man could barely recover. He raised himself to his knees. The toss had broken his nose, and blood smeared across his face.

"Tell me, Edward, tell all of us, what it means." The severity in Joshua's voice only strengthened, as the moment of Caesar's end neared. The man needed only admit defeat. Caesar opened his mouth to speak. Blood and saliva sprayed through his mouth on his first attempt. He spit out a mouthful of blood, and reattempted communicating the lesson Graham was trying to teach him.

"It means that even the greatest of man's creations will wither away with time."

Graham could not believe the words left Caesar's mouth. The audacity he must harbor in order to utter them in Graham's presence must be immense.

"You will die today, and with time, so will everything you have fought for, your life will have been a tragic waste of a brilliant mind. You will die, and there will be no funeral, none shall mourn your passing. But I will bury you, Caesar, atop this hill, your gravestone facing Arizona, gazing upon your own work falling apart before you. Upon your pedestal, it shall read: "Here lies Caesar the False, the man who thought he could outsmart God."

Joshua razed his hands with the machete. It felt heavy now, laced with vengeance. As he went in for the blow, a familiar voice cut off his redemption.

"Joshua, stop this."

Joshua's eyes shot to the door of the tent. A silhouette stood in the sunlight that pierced the room. As the tent flaps settled, and the figure neared, Joshua could discern that it was Chief Hanlon.

"You can't stop this Hanlon! I've waited too long!"

"For what, Joshua? Revenge? Your vengeance will not solve your hatred, Joshua. You need to give this up, here and now."

Joshua's mind raced, "This man is responsible for the deaths of countless NCR troops, a war you yourself oppose! How can you stand against me now, after all we've planned, after all we've sacrificed?"

"If you kill that man, Joshua, it is only you who will be engulfed in death. This is the point of no return, Graham, if you kill Caesar, you're only proving your vengeance to be righteous."

"This man has to die! I will not stand for his continued existence!"

Chief Hanlon drew his pistol, faster than Joshua ever thought him capable of. He shot Edward Sallow directly through the forehead. Joshua's mind could not conceive the emotion he felt. Caesar's lifeless body filled Joshua's arms. He looked down at the man. All the pain, all the hatred. Nothing to do with it.

"Now what, Joshua? Do you feel better? You don't, do you? Your hatred is still there, the atrocities that plague your mind still haunt you, don't they? You didn't want justice, Graham, you wanted revenge. Well then, now what? I've taken that from you, are you gonna kill me too? Where will it stop, Joshua?"

Graham hung his head. The tears came easy now. He didn't feel better. He did want revenge. The world had continued to burn him long after the fires in the canyon that fateful day. Joshua fell to his knees. He was tired. His legs ached, he had pushed them so. His arms screamed, he'd killed many. His heart begged for him to stop. But the exhaustion in his mind outshone every pain he'd ever experienced. He was tired of his own wrath. He was tired of revenge. The air felt as though it thinned in his lungs. He inhaled long and fully. The air was pure. He exhaled slowly and laboriously. Joshua Graham then did what he discovered he had been unable to do for so very long.

He let Caesar go.

As Caesar's body hit the ground, it sounded like every other. As his body fell, Graham's spirit rose, from the ashes of his own burned heart.

* * *

_Probably only a chapter left, but this is probably my favorite in the story. You? I added these words to make three thousand.  
_


	13. Epilogue

Hanlon lifted Joshua from the ground. They were all tired. Dust blew in the tent from outside. Exiting the tent, Hanlon remarked at the stillness of the place. Little more than the jingle of cans and glass blowing around in the breeze graced their ears. The vertibird had left, Sterling had pulled it off seamlessly. As far as plans of high treason go, this particular one had worked out tremendously. Unfortunately, there would be one last trick to pull.

The ground trembled, as though the earth itself prepared to engulf them. As though some wicked beast had awoken in the umber, ready to unleash itself upon them.

Neither shadows nor beast would emerge from the sunset. Instead, like an army of legionaries themselves, securitrons plagued the horizon. They slowly morphed into a V shape as the cowboy robot they had plotted with days earlier now approached them with army of robots armed in every crevice. The picture of the cowboy zapped out, replaced by a picture of a well groomed man, probably pre war. The atmosphere changed somehow, like the end of a hand of poker.

"Good evening, fantastic show."

Hanlon never seemed to miss a beat, "I'll operate under the assumption that we're speaking with Mr. House. What brings you and your-" He peered over the robot's shoulder, to the mass of them sitting on command, "entourage, around these parts?"

"Chief Hanlon. Perceptive, as always. I regret to inform you, Joshua Graham, that I have been waiting for someone like you to come along for many years. Someone with the knowhow to get the leaders of both the NCR and the Legion in one location. I trust you haven't killed the good president yet?"

Hanlon let a moment pass, "No, we still have him in the tent."

If it was possible, surely this robot would be smiling, "Perfect. You see, when Victor approached the group of you, I had already known of Graham's parade through the wastes. I also knew that he was my ticket to control of New Vegas. I could ransom back the president in exchange for the NCR's withdrawal from the Mojave. Caesar would be dead, and now the only man left to oppose me is Joshua Graham himself. Like a gift from God, watching all your enemies walk into the same room is quite uplifting."

Hanlon adopted a look of confusion, "You used my disagreement with the NCR and Graham's vendetta with Caesar to get all of us in the same place, so you could sweep in and take the pot?"

The group wondered if Mr. House was capable of laughter. Any villain worth his salt would let out a mighty laugh at this moment.

"That is correct, Hanlon. Unfortunately, in your valiant effort to let Graham have his vengeance, you appear to have shown your hand."

Hanlon was not tiring of the poker references. A smile crept across his face. One last trick to play. A gambit for the ages. His hand returned to his pocket, "So now what?"

The robot spoke matter of factly, "Now I invite you back to the tent. Let's not pretend we don't all know how this ends."

The group sauntered back to the tent, largely ushered by mechanical arms and metal pincer hands. As the group lifted the tent flap, seeing themselves into the makeshift building, the ground trembled once more. No sooner did it tremble was the room overtaken with silence. Another eruption, closer this time. The sound of the robot army answering with the machine guns mounted into their arms answered the sound of energy weapons carving through the tons of steel positioned outside the tent. Mr. House grabbed Hanlon.

"What is this?"

Hanlon was nearly laughing now, he pulled the note from his pocket.

"You see, Robert, there are more cards at the table than you thought were dealt. You tried to play my disagreement with the NCR against me. You tried to play Joshua's grudge against himself. You tried to play the world, House. In doing so, you have deceived yourself. You see, we may have shown our hand, but I'm afraid you have overplayed yours."

The robot shouted, "You fool! What force do you think can save Joshua and the president now?"

Hanlon replied, "I'm sure Joshua can handle one more fight. The president, unfortunately, is not here."

Almost comically, the robot took a step back in amazement. Like a wave, the realization washed over Mr. House. The years of planning replayed in his mind.

"We knew our rampage through the wastes would pique the interest of New Vegas' overlord. When Victor came rollin' into view just outside the dam that day, we didn't believe a word of it. You're too ambitious to all of a sudden let a group of defectors and a vengeful ex-legate join your cause. No, we're the kind of people you need to nip at the bud. So we staged defecting from the NCR, only a few were in on it. When you proposed the plan to kidnap the president, we altered the plan at the dam. Sterling was still to kidnap the president, and it was a genuine kidnapping, nobody outside this group and Colonel Hsu actually know that the president is in no danger. Well, Sterling pulled off the kidnapping, and headed towards the camp, set 'er down on the other side of Caesar's camp to give you the illusion we were in it for the long haul."

Hanlon pulled the note from his pocket, "As soon as I could, I sent for the aid of several factions of the Mojave, these letters signed by the Gun Runners and The Brotherhood of Steel Mojave branch, saying they would assist our retreat from the camp, should hostilities arise from Mr. House."

Mr. House yelled through the machine, "How did you manage to acquire so much help in so little time?"

Hanlon tipped his hat, "You'd be surprised what a courier can accomplish." Hanlon drew his pistol, and fired a bullet into the screen depicting Mr. House's face. The robot fell to the ground. The rest of the group made for their pistols. Gunfire rang out from the tent. A moment of silence followed, then did the flapping of the tent entrance and the group sprinted from the tent. Gunfire drowned out every sound. None of them could even hear one another. Dirt sprayed up from the ground as the robot army laid into them, but they were hardly a match for the destruction that would rain upon them. Heavily armed soldiers flanked the army from one side, Brotherhood from the other. It was a massacre. The two armies pinched the mechanical one out of existence, like good finally swallowing the evil in this world. The group would run all the way back to the Hoover Dam. There was, for lack of better phrase, explaining to do.

* * *

So ends the story of Joshua Graham, the man who fell, rose, fell, and rose again, proving that war may never change, but the people who wage it can.

* * *

_The end! I already have ideas in mind for several more Fallout Fanfics, so stay tuned, as it were._


End file.
